


Fallout 4: AR

by Tyrrlin



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Good luck!, Hope you like it!, I don't know what other tags to use, Science Fiction, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 117,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29961138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrrlin/pseuds/Tyrrlin
Summary: When Anne receives a prototype Pip-Boy for the special edition of Fallout 4 VR, she is unexpectedly transported into Post-War Boston. How did it happen, and how is she going to get back home? NaNoWriMo 2020 challenge. (Blatant self-insertion fanfiction.)
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Special Edition

**Author's Note:**

> This was my 2020 NaNoWriMo challenge, and has grown into a monster of a novel. It's my first attempt at writing first-person, as well. I welcome comments, kudos, and constructive critiques! I hope you enjoy the adventure!

The cardboard shipping box stood propped up against the front door. It was a more than welcome sight as I came home to what was otherwise going to be another uneventful weekend in an empty house. Owning my own shop was all fine and dandy, but it could get lonely when all I did was work and go home. Friends and family lived far away, which made visiting difficult. Being an unrepentant and total introvert, I rarely went out. My guilty pleasure was computer games, and I finally caved in to the hype that was Fallout. Having never played any of the franchise before, I recklessly decided to go for the brand new limited-number Fallout 4 Ultimate Virtual Reality Edition. It was going to be a trial by fire, but what the hell? _Go big or go home_ , I thought, picking up the box and heading inside. For once, I didn't even take the time to remove my boots as I practically skipped up the stairs into the dining room.

The box sitting on the table tempted me all through making dinner, just anticipating what fun I was going to have made me barely taste whatever leftovers were hastily microwaved and scarfed. I so wanted to try this. The original game reviews were very good, and I had wanted a Virtual Reality game for some time. Fallout 4 VR seemed like a good start. Dinner finished, and the dishes washed, the box couldn't wait any longer. I cut through the tape, unfolding the flaps to behold the beautifully designed game chest inside. It was rich with color, a glossy depiction of the iconic armor helmet featured on every Fallout game case I'd ever seen, with the words _Fallout 4: Virtual Reality Edition_ embossed in large gold letters across the top. The lid had slightly raised etching that emphasized the lines of the letters and the outline of the armor, a neat 3D touch. The case was heavy, made of thin metal, and quite sturdy. Plastic shrinkwrap soon joined the discarded shipping box on the floor and the top of the game chest opened to reveal its treasures.

An embossed voucher, certifying Special Limited Edition #01 gleamed from the top of the chest. _No way, it's the first copy? This must be a mistake._ I couldn't believe it, but the proof was right there in front of me. _Wonder how many copies there were?_ When I had visited the website to place my order, the highest tier VR option only had one item left. The certificate was beautiful, the text appearing to be handwritten with a fountain pen, using glittery sable ink. I had to just sit there for a moment, letting the words shimmer in the light. Finally, I reverently lifted the paper, setting it to one side.

The impossible document was followed by thin, flexible wires coated in silicone attached to a hand-shaped backing. These were being supported by a reasonably hefty instruction manual, which I set aside for the time being. More papers and inset cards followed, to be set aside as well. Digging further, I revealed the wireless computer interface dongle wrapped next to a hinged wooden box. That box revealed a beautifully crafted metallic black forearm computer, edges chased in silver piping. The armband was nicely padded and adjustable for any size forearm. Hefting it revealed it to be lighter than it looked, the screen wonderfully retro and a decently readable size, a little larger around than my hand, with a knurled selection knob on the right side of the casing. On top was a vintage design cassette-style ejector port. The underside revealed an extendable wire attachment as well as ports for the computer interface and power. _Definitely got my money's worth_ , I thought, pleased, running my fingers along the edges of the device. Reluctantly, I set it aside for the moment to leaf through the instruction manual. _So, what is this and how does it work?_

Too excited to do more than skim, I flipped through the initial introduction and background, adjusting my glasses to see better. _Okay... set in post nuclear war Boston. Vault-tec... exploring... dialogue... enemies... fighting... sneaking... companions... factions... weapons... armor... blah blah blah... aha!_

The armband computer was called a Pip-Boy, and was instrumental in gameplay, basically being the interface the player used to interact with the world. _Got it._ There were simple picture instructions to set it up, which I followed step-by-step. The silicon-sheathed wires attached like adhesive cathodes to the back of each finger and thumb, interfacing with the Pip-Boy computer to allow hand motions to translate into gameplay. _Oh, that is cool!_ Small pin adapters on the inside of the arm band mated with receivers located at the base of the finger wires. I couldn't help myself, and waved my arm and hand in ridiculous motions, the weight of the Pip-Boy present, but not hindering. _I can work with this._ The computer antenna dongle plugged in easily enough, depressing flush with the outer casing of the Pip-Boy.

Next, power. The cable appeared to be missing. Sorting through the contents revealed nothing more than the pieces already discovered. Instruction book, certificate, random inset cards, hinged Pip-Boy box... no power cable. I pawed through the contents again, accidentally knocking the whole thing to the floor with a noisy clatter. Sighing, _of course you knocked everything over_ , I took a moment to gather everything back up. _Maybe the booklet has instructions on how to power this thing._ The chest had landed hard on one corner and when placed back on the table, I noticed the bottom plane of the box had been knocked askew. There was a slight bluish glow emanating from the gap. Grabbing a flat bladed screwdriver and a pair of sturdy tweezers, I carefully pried the wooden piece, a false bottom, free. Underneath, a small clear vial of brightly glowing blue liquid lay nestled in a padded recess, a small folded note on top. With tentative fingers, I reached out and unfolded the note.

_Congratulations, Anne!_

_You were selected as the lucky recipient of our one-of-a-kind prototype Fallout 4 VR Pip-Boy! We want you to have the best gaming experience possible, and this exclusive device can provide it! Our prototype system expands the boundaries of ~~Vir~~ tual Reality, giving you a Fallout adventure like no other! Unlike lesser devices, this unique schematic requires no outside power to function. Simply insert the included vial of QuantumEnergy(TM) into the power port and let your Pip-Boy do the rest! Are you ready for the ultimate adventure?_

_B.I.R.D._

The ink was the same as the certificate, a glittery black that caught the light in rainbow shimmers. Unfortunately the letters spelling out “Virtual” had a blot that appeared crossed out or written over... almost like the V had an additional stroke added, and the “ir” was blotted completely. It marred what was otherwise a beautifully calligraphed note. And who was B.I.R.D? No further explanation appeared forthcoming. Not quite sure what to make of it, I set it aside and picked up the vial. The vial was about the size of an “AAA” battery, and was warm to the touch. My fingertips tingled when making contact with the material. Both ends were sealed with metallic caps, identical in shape. The vial was completely full, no air bubbles appearing when shaken gently.

Examination finished, I was none the wiser. I guess they got my name from my shipping address, but why did I receive this special Pip-Boy? I knew next to nothing about the Fallout games, why send the “ultimate” in gaming experiences to a complete novice? The notes were obviously hand-written, so someone had had to have made the effort to put together this particular setup and send it out. My brows furrowed. _I'm nobody, just a single girl trying to get along._ Why me?

 _Why not?_ whispered a rebellious voice in my head. _After all, you've got nothing else to do this weekend._ I tilted the glowing vial back and forth in my fingers, glancing from it to the mysterious letter and back again. The Pip-Boy on my arm caught the light from the vial, silver piping shimmering faintly from the radiance. I grasped the vial firmly in my fingers.

“Fine. Let's do this.”

Tilting the Pip-Boy towards me, I decisively installed the QuantumEnergy vial, feeling the metal end snick into place, seating itself smoothly just like the antenna. The back of the device felt like one solid piece now, no sign remaining of the ports. I took a breath in anticipation.

Nothing happened.

“Really?” I shook my arm experimentally.

Nothing.

I sighed in exasperation and picked up the letter. “...and let your Pip-Boy do the rest” I read aloud. The letter floated down to the table. “Yeah, right.” Examining the power port showed nothing but the faint outline of the vial's metal end, irrevocably installed flush to the unit. Not a hint of blue glow escaped from the perfectly fitted installation. There seemed to be no way to remove it, to my growing frustration.

Twisting the Pip-Boy to face me, I tentatively tapped the screen. Nope. A harder tap resulted in the same inert reaction. “Really?!” I cried again, my voice rising in volume. I went to twist the dial on the right side of the casing. This time, nothing happened again... but the dial had moved before. _Hmmmm_ I twisted harder, wiggling the ridged button back and forth, trying to figure out... _maybe the battery installation completed a connection?_

Click!

 _Now_ the dial moved smoothly. Five clicks back and forth, one click for each marking on the casing. Stat – Inv – Data – Map – Radio As I clicked back to “Stat” the Pip-Boy's screen started to glow faintly. _Aha!_

Eagerly, I held up my left arm to watch the screen brighten moment by moment. The armband felt comfortingly warm. The words “Please Stand By” in front of a rotating gear animation appeared on the screen, in green 8-bit graphics. As I watched, the screen glowed brighter and brighter, finally forcing me to look away and squeeze my eyes closed as the Pip-Boy flashed nova-bright, lighting up the entire room in a blue-white incandescence.

Simultaneously, the cathode wires on the back of my hand and fingers burned with sudden scorching pain, the zap of overwhelming energy pulsing up and down my whole body. I tried to scream, but only a tortured whimper escaped the muscles of my throat, locked in electrical stasis. I couldn't move, I couldn't even breathe. My vision behind closed eyelids crackled white and blue to match the dining room's illumination, blinding me to anything outside of the immediate pain. A thunderous crack sounded in my ears, or was it my head? I felt myself falling, disintegrating into the blackness of unconsciousness.


	2. Boston?

The first thing I noticed was the sensation of an all-over ache, a soreness that prodded me out of the black void. I was on my back, limbs sprawled awkwardly across an uncomfortably hard uneven surface. Everything hurt, my muscles twitching in response, my skin sensitive to the lightest sensation. The next thing was the stench. My nose was assaulted with odors, none of them pleasant. Garbage and rotting matter was overlaid with a miasma of stale urine and an odd pervasive metallic scent to the air, wafting occasional hints of scorched rock. With a groan of effort, I pried open one eye. The sight of a bloody and very dead hairless dog not three feet from my head caused me to scramble awake, and to hell with my soreness. Random bits of trash and concrete caught under my limbs as I scooted backwards until my shoulders ran into a brick wall. Stacked brick masonry on three sides, opening out to a crumbled street on the fourth...an alley? A large trash bin blocked most of the view. My glasses were covered in dust, and I took a second to wipe them clean, not believing what I was seeing.

Looking up, the shadowed brick alley towered over me. A slice of sky glowed several stories above my head, the light wan and thin. Random pieces of twisted fire escape scaffolding poked out from the walls above me, useless claws of broken steel silhouetted against the pale blue. It was a bit chilly for my state of dress; oversized T-shirt, jeans, and old leather Army boots. I hugged my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms as tightly as I could. The ground was covered in trash; pulverized bricks, pieces of cloth and paper, twisted nubs of metal, dead dog, all scattered about like a hellish snowfall. It had even piled up in the corners, creating drifts of noxious junk and filth. A light breeze sighed through the alley, bringing with it a hint of warmth and the faint sound of random popping echoing from the walls. The noise was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it. My senses were overwhelmed with data.

 _Where. The. HELL. Am I?_ Reaching out, I felt the bricks on either side. They seemed awfully solid, coarse and scratchy beneath my fingertips. The Pip-Boy on my wrist clinked metallically against the stone. The Pip-Boy! Fallout! Post-war... Boston? This must be the expanded VR system from the letter! _If this is VR, it's better than anything I've ever heard or dreamed of._ I snatched the device to my chest to examine it closely, bracing my back against the impossibly solid brick wall.

The Pip-Boy screen was glowing greenly, but not with the overwhelming brightness it showed before I blacked out. A cartoonish portrait of a person standing with arms and legs extended was centered on the screen. Each limb, head, and torso had an arrow pointing to a green bar graphic next to it, with a longer bar at the bottom left. In the top left corner, a pinwheel animation whirled slightly with the word “Dazed” next to it. “No shit, Sherlock,” I retorted. The screen was pulsing, a distracting flash that started to annoy me. Irritated, I poked at the pinwheel. The pulsing stopped and the graphic disappeared with a melodic triple chime.

That's when I heard the footsteps crunching along the street outside the alley. A rough male voice queried, “Huh? What the fuck was that?”

I froze. That voice did not sound friendly. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, at least for the moment, I scrunched over to hide behind the trash bin as quietly as I could, but the sounds of my movement must have reached the street. The footsteps had paused, but started coming closer.

A different voice spoke, female this time, “Hey, I think someone's out there.”

The original voice called out, taunting, “Come on out... I'll make it nice and quick... You can trust me...” followed by a nasty laugh and a metallic click.

Peering behind the trash bin, I saw three shadows move past my line of sight in the mouth of the alley. One appeared to be carrying a club or bat, wrapped in spikes, the farthest figure had something lumpy wrapped around their right fist, and the middle form... _is that a rifle?_ Suddenly the popping sounds I heard earlier made sense. It was the same sound I remembered from Basic Training many years ago; the sound of gunfire.

I was in trouble. If they found me, it was a pretty sure bet they were not going to be benevolent. Keeping as still as I could, I watched from my hiding spot. I barely dared to breathe.

The three figures paced slowly past the mouth of the alley. I lost sight of them as soon as they moved out of view from the gap behind the bin, but I could hear the crunch of their steps along the rubble-strewn street. They ambled down the street for a few additional steps, then paused. The third voice, a deep gravely rumble, announced, “You're gettin' paranoid, there ain't nothing here.”

“Fucking thought I heard something,” argued the first voice. “Fuck it, let's go back.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as the sounds of footsteps moved back across the alley entrance without stopping. The scuff of their passing faded into silence and I decided I needed to get out of the area. Anywhere had to be better than a brick-walled dead end that stank of urine and rotting flesh. The light overhead had brightened into a clear morning sky, allowing me to see better where I wanted to go. Now I just needed to figure out where that was. _Here goes nothing._

Still a little sore, I nevertheless was able to pick my way to the mouth of the alleyway to get my bearings, such as they were. As soon as I reached the street, I turned to look left, in the direction the menacing trio had gone. Less than two blocks away, three pairs of eyes locked on me.

“Ha, found you! Thought you could hide?”

I ran.

I could hear their shouts behind me, but I didn't dare look back as I sprinted down the street. I had to focus on my feet. _Don't trip, don't fall, go, go go go!_ A _crack_ of dust and grit exploded near my head, peppering my face with a sharp sting and goading me into more speed. The street started to curve to the right and I pounded down the road, keeping as straight a line as I could. My lungs were burning, and I was starting to slow despite the threat of death chasing behind. Frantically looking around for somewhere, anywhere to go, the dark shadow in an old doorway caught the corner of my eye. It was just up off the street, and might just work, as long as I could get out of sight for a second or two.

Taking a chance, I jinked to the right, catching on to an old lamppost to swing my body around without losing momentum. A renewed burst of shouting behind me echoed up the street. I scrambled up a pile of junk to reach the boarded up door that held my desperate hope of escape. The plywood blocking the door wasn't straight, allowing for a small gap about three feet tall, but only a few inches wide. Without hesitation, I reached out to shove the half-rotted barrier aside, twisting the wood to widen the gap without breaking it. The top corner levered out, the door reluctantly pivoting on a 2x4 that had been nailed in place to secure it. Gasping with effort, I barely managed to squeeze through into the darkness, frantically pushing the plywood back in place behind me. My heart was hammering rapidly, my limbs shaking from the adrenaline as I crouched down behind the frame of the door, trying to listen.

My assailants pounded past the door and down the street, not even glancing at the boarded up doorway- one of several I had seen, but not remembered noticing until now. Taking deep, slow breaths and trying to calm my pounding pulse, I stayed still, peeking out the tiniest sliver of a crack in the plywood and concentrating on the sounds outside. A few minutes later the trio slowly returned, weapons at rest. The center raider even had his rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder. They stomped back the way they had come, to all appearances reluctantly giving up on the chase.

I breathed a shaky sigh of relief, holding back tears. Hiding had bought a bit of safety, for the moment at least. This time, I was going to wait and make damn sure those three were long gone and not coming back before I left the confines of my sanctuary. _At least it doesn't smell like urine_ , I noted. Trying to make the best of a horrid situation, I shifted around until my back was against the inside door frame and sat cross-legged on the floor. The light slowly shifted, a tiny weak sunbeam making its torturous way down the crumbling inner wall. Dust motes drifted. All was quiet outside. But where was I? What happened? Was this just a VR game? I reached up to touch my cheek where the ricocheted grit had hit me. My fingertips came back dotted with specks of blood. _This is too real to be just a game. I have to try to find out what actually happened. I have to get home._

As the light strengthened, it gleamed off the silver piping of my Pip-Boy. The Pip-Boy. It had to have something to do with my current situation. Now that it looked like I had some time, I decided to examine it again. The screen still showed the cartoon figure in green, bar graphs and all. This time, I decided not to poke the screen. No sense risking another chime attracting attention. I focused on the selection knob on the right side of the device.

Clicking the knob from “Stat” to “Inv” showed me a blank screen, obviously malfunctioning. Next was “Data” which was also blank, but contained a blinking cursor in the top left corner next to a microphone graphic. “Map” looked potentially promising, a sketchy diagram of a blank map square, with a stylized arrow icon in the center. Finally, “Radio” showed a line of text on the left side of the screen and a sound wave oscillator graphic on the right. That's when I finally noticed my hand.

The cathodes and wires were still on my hand... or more truthfully, _in_ my hand. The silicon coating was gone, the wires faintly visible as some freakish science-fiction cybernetic enhancement. They ran all the way up my fingers to just below the cuticles now, and a glance under the other side of the Pip-Boy showed the ribbons of silvery metal extending up my arm until they disappeared from view in my bicep muscle, just past the elbow. I clawed at the lines, trying to get them out of my hand, out of my arm. How did this happen? My fingernails merely glided over the metal, scratching the skin, but not catching on the embedded technology in the slightest.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, frantically unlatching the armband and tearing the Pip-Boy off my arm. The gadget came free easily, but the wires remained. Underneath where the Pip-Boy rested was a line of pin receivers, lying flush with the skin of my forearm. Removing the device did not power it off; the screen continued to glow faintly. I ran my right hand fingers over the receivers, trying to find a seam, a gap to wedge my nails in and remove this metallic intrusion. Other than the faintest of ridges where the receivers lined up, there was no sign of any way, short of a large sharp knife, that I could remove the sensors. All my efforts resulted in a series of scratches up and down my arm, and no more.

Defeated, I replaced the Pip-Boy on my arm. It clicked in place, more a feel than a sound, and the wires that had mysteriously extended into my body pulsed faintly. It was disconcerting to feel that light quiver extend much farther than the visible ribbons of wire. I stared at the screen, not seeing it for a very long time, trying to figure out what to do.

 _I'm screwed._ The thought rode up on a wave of panic that I ruthlessly tamped down, gritting my teeth against tears of fear. I held my head in my hands and tried to reason things out.

So, this must be Fallout 4. However I got here, whatever happened, things were more than just virtual. That was real pain, real blood on my cheek from a real bullet that barely missed me. _What I need to do is find somewhere safe to go, and someone who knows how to get me home._

Simple as pie when I put it that way. _An unarmed woman unfamiliar with Boston, much less post-apocalyptic Boston, traipsing around piles of rubble wearing nothing more than a T-shirt, jeans, and a freakish Pip-Boy arm computer that has somehow invaded her very body..._

I couldn't stop the rush of panic that time. I could hear my ragged breathing in the room and focused on evening it out, taking deep breaths that tasted slightly metallic. _Freaking out won't help._ Closing my eyes, I simply breathed in and out until my roiling emotions were under better control. It took every ounce of my self-discipline to calm down.

Right. First things first, I couldn't stay here. I had to find a safe place with friendly, or at least nonthreatening, people. The street was still quiet, the trio of armed muggers hadn't returned. Taking a firm hold of my courage, I pried open the plywood barrier and squeezed out of the deserted building. My steps were tentative, walking as quietly as I could down the street. I angled away from where the muggers had returned, wanting to put distance between me and whatever territory they might have claimed.

It was quite light now, the temperature almost comfortable. Approaching a makeshift wooden wall in front of me, the gleam of white painted arrows shone stark and clean, standing out from the darker wooden slats. I approached cautiously, taking in the line of small arrows and the scrawled lettering above them- “All Are Welcome”. Several feet above, its light washed out in the in the bright sunbeams spearing down, a large neon sign flickered faintly blue and red; “GOODNEIGHBOR” it read, with an arrow pointing down the street to another sign. The second “Goodneighbor” sign was more visible, being in the shadow of another dead end. A second arrow angled down to point directly at a blue door in the middle of a corrugated metal wall.

“Talk about a sign,” I muttered to myself, sarcastically. “There's two of them.”

No one seemed to be about. I made my way over to the door, finding it unlocked. Two lines of piled sandbags framed the entryway. Taking a deep steadying breath to quell the nervous roiling of my stomach, I opened the door and went inside.


	3. Goodneighbor

Inside the gate, the first thing that struck me was the open courtyard. Some effort had been made to clean up the front entrance, and the concrete was reasonably open and free of debris. Next were the two small shopfronts, neon signs flickering over the open doorways. “Guns Guns Guns,” one sign declared. “Daisy's Discounts,” announced the other. To the left, a white-clad doorway fronted an historic building, red brick sturdily rising up three stories. A few people lounged about, and I noticed they were staring at me. I took a few tentative steps towards the curving low stone wall in the center of the open area. One of the men lounging in front of the gun shop approached me.

“Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor?” His voice was low, almost coaxing, the slight grin on his scarred face not entirely friendly, but not outright hostile either. He was wearing an age-darkened leather jacket and thick leather pants. I nodded, not wanting to cause a scene. “Can't go walking around without insurance.” At this, he stepped closer, looming. His tone had shifted, becoming less friendly and more threatening. I backed up, wanting to keep some distance. My heart started to pound, and my mouth went dry. No one else moved or even reacted.

“What?” I asked intelligently, my voice cracking a bit.

“Insurance. Personal protection.” His grin widened and he casually took a drag from the lit cigarette in his hand. “You hand over everything you got in them pockets, or 'accidents' start happenin' to ya. Big, bloody, 'accidents.'”

I froze. I couldn't help it. This man was taller and stronger, and had just threatened me. For the second time today, I was in danger of my life.

“Whoa whoa. Time out,” called a man's raspy voice from farther back. A shorter, slender figure emerged from the shadows between the shops and the historical building. He stalked into the light of the courtyard with a lithe, dangerous grace. The man stood out from the rest of the inhabitants, wearing a revolutionary period red jacket and black tri-corner hat. “Someone steps through the gate the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.”

The leather-clad man tossed away his cigarette and turned to face this new arrival. “What do you care? She ain't one of us,” he growled.

“No love for your mayor, Finn? I said, let her go.” The rasp in the mayor's voice was steely, uncompromising and commanding. His face, indeed the entirety of his body that I could see was covered in scars, ridges of flesh that looked like he had been horribly burned at some time in the past. I clung to the hope of his words. “ _Let her go.” Please, just let me go._

Finn was not to be dissuaded, apparently. “You're soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor.”

Hancock closed the gap between them. “Come on, man. This is me we're talking about. Let me tell you something.”

Before I could even blink, Hancock had whipped out a large knife and stabbed Finn twice in the belly and chest, letting the larger man fall limp to the brick floor. “Now why'd you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here,” he remarked casually, sarcasm dripping from every word.

The blood drained from my face.

Hancock casually re-sheathed the knife and turned his attention towards me. “You all right, sister?” he asked, sauntering forward a few steps.

I stared at the limp body on the ground, watching the crimson spread of life's blood that slowly painted its way across the lines of mortar. He was dead. This “Finn,” this man who had threatened me, had been murdered in cold blood right in front of my eyes. I had never seen anyone die before. My vision tunneled in, sharply focused on the cooling body. Dead. A high pitched ringing sounded in my ears and I felt suddenly dizzy. It was too much. I couldn't breathe. It was all just... too much to take in. My legs gave way as the world grayed out and I staggered to one side.

“Whoop! Guess not.” I felt hands gripping me, guiding my faltering steps until I was able to collapse into a trembling heap on a wooden bench. Instinctively, I put my head down between my knees, desperately clinging to consciousness. I could sense the presence of this murderous mayor hovering over me, but was shaking too hard in reaction to do anything more than whimper in abject fear. He killed a man in cold blood right in front of me. Was he going to stab me too? I gasped for air, on the edge of hyperventilating in panic.

“Hey, hey, it's all right, sister,” Hancock's hoarse tenor threaded through my ears. I could feel a light patting on my back, attempting to be reassuring, but falling far short of its intended aim. “You're a guest here in Goodneighbor. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

“You...” I squeaked out. “...killed him.” My ears were ringing, and I still couldn't catch my breath.

“Got a pair of eyes on you, that's for sure,” he chuckled. He rested his hand on my trembling back, in an attempt at comfort. “Hmmm, you're really shook up. Not from around here, are ya?” His rough voice was low, soothingly quiet.

I shook my head, fighting back tears. My whole body felt cold, and I couldn't stop shaking. My chest had seized up as well, forcing me to devote most of my attention on merely trying to get air in and out in halting breaths. I squeezed my eyes shut. Hancock went quiet for a moment, fingers tapping a rapid pattern on my back.

“Figured as much,” he commented, continuing. “You're too clean to be a scavver.” He hummed to himself quietly, then appeared to make a decision. “Let's get you inside. We can talk about this more in my office. Hey, Fahrenheit!” he called, causing me to jump in reaction. “Come over here and give me a hand, will ya?”

Head still propped against my knees, I cracked open my eyes to see a pair of boots enter my field of view. “What do you need, Hancock?” asked a stern feminine voice. “She's not one of ours. Got a new project?”

“Maybe,” was the laconic reply. “Help me get her inside. I think she's in shock.”

“I can walk.” I muttered rebelliously, standing up. That was a mistake. The ringing in my ears crescendoed and deepend to a roar and my vision wavered and darkened. The next thing I remembered I was being helped to ascend a spiraling staircase, staggering forward through open double doors into a cluttered room scattered about with various furniture. Firm hands steered me to sprawl gracelessly on one of the couches, shaking in reaction. My vision returned slowly, but my chest was still tight, and I could only gasp shallow breaths. I could hear the wheezing from my lungs. As long as I didn't move from this prone position, I thought I could hold on to my consciousness, but it was a struggle.

“All right,” remarked Hancock, crouching down to my level, “that's better. Now there won't be a scene.” Behind him, the woman he called Fahrenheit grunted assent and sat down to lounge in another couch opposite the one I was occupying. She flipped her straight reddish hair out of her eyes and stared out the doorway, disinterested.

Being this close, I finally noticed his face in more detail. Hancock's eyes were pools of black, no discernible iris or pupil to be seen. He had no nose, just a hollow socket where it should have been. The same fate had happened to his ears, hints of former curves on the sides of his head. His scarred and seamed face had a thickly weathered complexion, but underneath the criss-cross of tortured, gouged flesh, the bone structure appeared even, with broad cheekbones surmounting a surprisingly personable smile. After what just happened with Finn, I wasn't sure I could trust that smile, even if it seemed genuine.

“What are you?” I gasped out between wheezing breaths. At Fahrenheit's growl, I realized my slip, too late. “Who! I meant who!” I amended, wriggling back into the cushions frantically, _don't stab me don't stab me_. “I'm so sorry,” I whimpered, starting to shake again. My hands came up to cover my face and I tensed up, preparing for a violent response. A low self-deprecating chuckle floated up from Hancock.

“What, ya never seen a Ghoul before?” Again, I shook my head. _This is getting to be a habit._ Hancock's brows rose and his eyes widened. “Really?” His voice held genuine surprise. “All right then. I'm what you smooth-skins commonly refer to as a 'Ghoul'. We're humans who have been, ah, changed by massive amounts of radiation, giving us these attractive exteriors and long, long, nearly immortal lives. Although,” he added, slyly, “I'm a special case.”

“Uh-huh,” retorted Fahrenheit, tolerantly.

“As to who I am,” he answered, “I'm John Hancock, mayor of this wonderful city of Goodneighbor. We take in all the freaks and misfits nobody else wants. We're of the people, for the people.” He straightened up proudly at that declaration, and stepped back to sit next to Fahrenheit. She handed him a small red inhaler, and he took a long drag. “I'm pretty sure you misspoke just now, but be aware there are quite a few of us walking rad freaks around, so keep those kinds of questions on the back burner, ya dig?” He waited for my nod before continuing.

“So,” he asked conversationally, “mysterious lady who looks too clean and pretty to be from around these parts... no weapons, no armor, not even a coat. You caught my curiosity. Who are _you?_ What's your story, sunshine?” He gestured to my arm. “Nice Pip-Boy. You escape from a vault, maybe?” He considered this for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah. You're not wearing one of those godawful eyesore vault suits.”

“A vault?” All I could do was blink, trying to process the fact that I apparently wasn't in immediate danger. “N-no?” I brought my left arm forward, displaying the Pip-Boy. “Got this in the mail...” I grabbed on to Hancock's queries. “I'm... Anne.” My thoughts were scattered in a hundred different directions, and I tried to latch on to coherence. “I... I don't know how I got here!” My voice rose in frustration, and I stopped to take a breath to try and calm myself.

“Nice to meet you, Anne,” he said. “Now, tell us what you remember before you showed up here.” Hancock encouraged, this time grabbing a blister pack of tablets from the low table between us and crunching one. “Maybe we can figure this out.”

I sat up straighter, twisting around to put my feet flat on the floor. Leaning forward, I tried my best to explain my home, the game box, the letter, the bright flash... waking up in an alley and running for my life. I could tell from her sour expression that Fahrenheit was not believing a word of it. Hancock, however, appeared to hang on my every word, scarred face cradled in his hands, black eyes bright and focused disconcertingly on my face as I spoke. I finished lamely, “and then I came here, and you know the rest, I guess.” I looked down at my clasped hands, twisting my fingers back and forth nervously.

“Wow.” said Hancock, finally. “Wow. That story's better than a Psycho trip.” He glanced at Fahrenheit. “What do you think, darlin'?”

“I think it's a load of bullshit, personally.” She leaned back into the couch, her leather armor creaking slightly. “But it's your town. You can do as you see fit.”

Hancock crooned back, “why thank you for recognizing who's in charge here, Fahr.” He turned back to me, holding out his hand. “Sounds like your Pip-Boy may be the cause of this little... adventure.” At that last word, a chill ran down my spine. Adventure, like in the letter? “I don't know much about them, but I've never laid eyes on one that looked like yours. Mind if I take a look?”

What else could I do? I held out my arm.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed as he took my forearm. “Hey, Fahrenheit, take a gander at this!” She leaned over, eyes narrowing as he ran one withered finger across the back of my hand, tracing the lines of the embedded sensors. I shuddered at the sensation, and not just because those fingers had traces of blood on them. “You're not a Synth, are you?” he asked, suddenly intense. “Not like it matters much in Goodneighbor, as long as you play nice.”

“Synth?” I echoed, dumbly. Fahrenheit had stood up and unslung her weapon, her face set in a stony expression. I froze in fear, ignoring the hands on my arm. Was she going to shoot me?

“Hancock,” Fahrenheit began, her voice tight. “If she's a Synth...”

His raspy laugh broke the growing tension between us. “Ha! No, nevermind. A Synth is supposed to be undetectable from a human,” and he patted the lines on my hand. “so these little enhancements are right out. Not to mention that story is out of this world.” He chuckled again, “The Institute is all about trying to blend in, not stick out. Stand down, Fahrenheit. This lady is no threat.”

The weapon lowered slowly. Fahrenheit stalked away across the room.

“Well, Sunshine, we have a problem.” Hancock still held my hand over the low table between us. I was too scared to pull away and risk offending him. “I have decided that you may just be telling the truth, as outrageous as it may sound.” He ignored the half-strangled protest from across the room. “That Pip-Boy is something else.” Now, he released my hand, steepling his fingers in thought.

“What do _you_ want?” he asked. I stared at him, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“I mean, you obviously aren't from around here. You've stumbled into a Commonwealth full of armed and dangerous people. You don't know how you got here, but you're here now. What do you want to do?” He dropped his voice to a soothing raspy drawl, and I almost believed that he was sincere in his question.

Tears sprung to my eyes, unbidden. “I want to go home!” I sobbed. The realization that I was stuck here started to overwhelm me. Everything was different, everyone was dangerous and scary, and nothing felt right. I buried my face in my hands, not wanting these two to see me freak out, to lose whatever shred of composure I had managed to cling to... until now. My chest tightened again, and I struggled to get oxygen into my lungs through the terrified hysteria, forcing myself to slouch against the arm of the couch. I gasped out. “I...”

“can't...” ringing in my head

“breathe...” grayness as panic swept over me.

“Hold on, Sunshine.” I felt a small, plastic inhaler being pressed into my hand. “It'll help you... breathe. I use these myself when... well, whenever I need to.” A light chuckle.

Shakily, I brought the dispenser to my mouth. In between one panicked gasp and the next, I depressed the canister. A bitter cloud of vapor entered my lungs, instantly easing the tight restriction around my chest. A second breath, a second dose, and I could feel a wave of lethargy expand out from the center of my body. _This is one hell of an inhaler._ I sank back into the couch cushions.

“Huh, that worked better than I thought.” was the drawled remark. As I began to sink into a calming stupor, Hancock entered my field of view, looking down at me with a genuinely kind smile creasing his destroyed facial features. “I'd better talk quick, before it hits you fully.”

_Wait, what? I thought it was just an inhaler!_

“Look, Sunshine, you're certainly an interesting puzzle, and you need help,” he stated, “and I want to help you. Problem is I have my own responsibilities, and a town to run here. I can't just go traipsing off with some random lady... for more than a night anyway,” added with a wink and a grin.

The feeling of lassitude was spreading to my extremities by this point, and the innuendo only touched the edges of my mind. I was rapidly losing the battle to stay coherent.

Hancock looked up across the room. “What you need is a bodyguard, like Fahrenheit. Someone who can help you get through the dangers of the Commonwealth in one piece.”

“No way, Hancock. I watch your back, no one else's.”

“I'm touched. Nah, I have someone in mind.” Hancock's red coat flared as he turned suddenly. “May just be available, too.” He looked back at me. “Stay here. Though it's not like I think you can move anyway. Must've been an extra-strong batch.” Striding to the door, the Ghoul tossed over his shoulder. “You stay too, Fahr. I'm just going downstairs for a bit.” A grumbling assent floated in the air behind his departure.

My head was swimming now. I could feel my tension melting away with the drug. I closed my eyes and just floated in a dreamy haze. Time passed, and I may have even dozed off once or twice. Fahrenheit may have sat back down on the couch, I didn't know. Or care. Outside stimuli came in at one remove, present, but not making any impression in my mind. Whatever was in the inhaler was affecting me quite strongly, and I couldn't muster the power to fight it. My mind drifted, a passive observer, unable to think or remember. Voices flitted through my perception, winding in and past my waning consciousness without making an impression as the words washed over me in a gentle cascade.

“ _This better be good, Hancock, dragging me all the way up here.”_

“ _Got a job for you.”_

“ _I'm listening.”_

“ _Good for you. Found a little lost bird in need of a bodyguard escort home.”_

“ _Is that her? Sounds simple enough. What's the catch?”_

“ _MacCready, you wound me.”_

“ _You're not fooling me, Hancock. This one of your little pet projects?”_

“ _MacCready...”_

“ _Nu-uh, I want details.”_

“ _She doesn't have any caps. Or anything else, for that matter.”_

“ _I don't do charity work.”_

“ _I'll front your fee, if that's what you're worried about.”_

“ _Wow, generous of you, Hancock. Was she that good in bed?”_

“ _It's not like that! Not yet, anyway, heh heh heh...”_

“ _Uh-huh. Whatever you say. What else?”_

“ _She's pretty much helpless. Completely fell apart when I took care of Finn earlier.”_

“ _That was you, huh? Ugh, I'm a merc, not a babysitter.”_

“ _What? Best gun in the Commonwealth can't handle a little bodyguard work?”_

“ _I'm not saying that. I just want to get all the details before I decide. Spill it.”_

“ _Fine. We're not sure where 'home' is. Kinda a long story.”_

“ _You've got to be fu-- ugh, kidding me!”_

“ _Consider it a challenge.”_

“ _Whatever. 700 caps and you have a deal.”_

“ _Ya tryin' to rob me?”_

“ _I know what I'm worth. You want me to keep a helpless girl alive in the Commonwealth, it's gonna cost you.”_

“ _300, which is more than your standard rate.”_

“ _650.”_

“ _400, and I clear your bar tab. No? All right, I'll toss in a room at the Rexford as long as you're accompanying our friend.”_

“ _Deal. You drive a hard bargain, Hancock.”_

“ _Not as hard as you, MacCready. Let's celebrate with a drink.”_

The voices died out as two sets of footsteps moved deeper into the room. Once more, I drifted off into sleep. This time, however, it was deep and dreamless, completely forgetting the conversation I had groggily overheard.


	4. Hancock and MacCready

Consciousness returned slowly. My mind first registered light, and I felt the unfamiliar lumpy cushions beneath my resting form. I smelled an odd mix of dust, acrid vapor, and hints of personal odor overlaid with that ever-present slight metallic overtone. My ears picked up footsteps and quiet conversation, the clinking of metal and ceramic. The memories of the day before resurfaced- the alley, running for my life, Goodneighbor, meeting Hancock and Fahrenheit, floating in a drugged haze after my panic attack, falling asleep. _Guess it wasn't a dream._ Whatever drug was in the inhaler Hancock had given me had faded, leaving me with a sense of lingering calm that allowed me to process this new reality more rationally. _I'm still here. I'd better learn to deal with it._

I opened my eyes. I was lying on my side, back against the couch. Across from me on the other couch, appearing to me as if she had never moved from evening before, sat Fahrenheit. She had her weapon, a flamethrower of some kind to my best guess, disassembled on the table in front of her, performing maintenance. I blinked a few times and sat up. Fahrenheit glanced up with a terse “Good morning” and started to reassemble the flamethrower. Her greeting, while not especially hearty, was almost cordial. _Guess that's better than her hostility yesterday. I'll take it._

Hancock approached from the back of the room and placed a white can on the low table in front of me. Stark plain black letters spelled out “Purified Water” on the side. I gratefully accepted the offering, cracking open the tab and sipping eagerly. After my panicked day yesterday and the effects of the inhaler that was definitely more than just asthma medicine, I was absolutely parched. The water helped wake me up a bit more, though I dearly hoped there might be coffee in my future.

“Thank you,” I managed around sips.

“Quite welcome, Sunshine.” Hancock sat on the opposite couch, leaning back to put an arm around Fahrenheit. He took a puff on another of those ubiquitous inhalers, exhaling with a sigh of contentment. “Hungry?”

I nodded vigorously. I hadn't eaten anything since my dinner right before this... adventure had started. Had it really been over a day ago? My stomach was happy for the water, but that was a temporary fix.

“Don't got much here, but it's edible... barely” apologized the Ghoul, pushing a smallish cardboard box across to me. “This is probably the best of the lot.”

“Dandy Boy Apples?” The carton looked like it came straight out of a 50s sitcom. I shrugged, opened the package, and took a bite. It tasted like apple, if someone who had never heard of fruit read a printed description of an apple in a book. The bits were chewy but edible... barely, just as he promised. The Pip-Boy on my forearm crackled a quiet burst of static for a moment, but I ignored it. I was very hungry, and there was a generous portion in the box. Just as I was finishing up, the double door leading to the landing opened and a new person walked into the room.

“You're late,” Fahrenheit commented.

“Lay off, Fahr. I kept him up past his bedtime.” Hancock chuckled. “Come on in, MacCready. Let's get this party started.” He gestured to the other end of the couch where I was sitting.

The young man who stalked over to the couch was dressed in mud-spattered olive drab green with a long tattered leather duster belted snugly to his waist. An old Marine eight-point cap shaded his face. He was lean, almost scrawny in build, and not especially tall, but moved with a graceful strength that hinted to formidable combat prowess. He sat down, swinging a well-worn sniper rifle from his back to prop it between his knees. Nodding to Hancock, he looked over to me with a carefully guarded expression in his startlingly deep blue eyes. His face was narrow with high, sharply prominent cheekbones, and a slight frown framed by a thin light brown goatee. I met his flat gaze with what I hoped was a welcoming smile. He did not smile back, but one eyebrow raised slightly.

“All right,” said Hancock, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Anne, right?”

I nodded.

“Anne, this is MacCready. MacCready, Anne.” He paused, as if expecting us to exchange a handshake or pleasantries. MacCready didn't move, and I wasn't about to test his temper. When the silence stretched between us, he continued. “O-kay. Like I told you yesterday, Sunshine, you caught my attention and I want to help you.” Fahrenheit rolled her eyes and MacCready huffed sardonically. “Anyway, since I can't just stop being the beloved mayor of Goodneighbor, friend to the downtrodden, champion of living free...”

“Geez, Hancock, lay it on a little thicker, won't ya?” MacCready interjected querulously, speaking for the first time.

“You're no fun, MacCready.” Hancock put on a wounded expression, drawing the corners of his ruined mouth down into a tragic frown. He cocked his head at the young man inquiringly, the tricorner hat on his head tilting down his hairless head.

“Get to the point.” MacCready rubbed his temples, wincing slightly. He closed his eyes with a slight groan.

“All right. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted...” Hancock paused to grin at the sour young man before turning to address me directly. “I hired MacCready here to be your own personal bodyguard, sniper, Commonwealth travel guide, Wasteland survival teacher, human pack mule, private butler...”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” came the startled protest. “Private butler?!”

“All right, spoilsport. Maybe not a butler, but he's going to watch your back while we figure out how to get you home.” Hancock produced a second can of purified water, sliding it over to MacCready. “Here, drink some water. You're a real bastard when you have a hangover.”

“It's your fault.” The sniper took the proffered water, downing it quickly. “Never,” and he finally turned to address me, “get into a drinking contest with a Ghoul. Especially this one.”

Hancock chuckled in reply. “See, you're giving her lessons already. You're a natural!” He smiled beatifically at MacCready's exasperated groan. Fahrenheit had observed the entire exchange coolly, not deigning to offer any additional commentary. “Anyway, Sunshine, you're his boss now. The services of the best gun in the Commonwealth, my gift to you.”

“What?” I was stunned. “Why?”

“I dunno. You're cute. I like you. I like your story- the ultimate misfit in Goodneighbor! I had too many caps lying around anyway.” Hancock pointed out carelessly, taking another puff on his inhaler, but I wasn't about to be deterred.

“This is too much.” I protested. “I can't let you do this.” I waved my hand towards MacCready, whose eyes widened in surprise. “I'm sure you're just as good as Hancock says, but it's not fair to you to have to traipse around after me.”

“Look, angel,” MacCready explained, meeting my eyes with his own, a serious expression on his face. “I'm a merc, a hired gun. It's simple; you point, and I shoot. It doesn't really matter who paid the caps for my fee. I've been hired to protect you, and I honor my contracts.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “You can't be worse than any other boss I've had.”

“Check and mate, Sunshine,” chimed Hancock. “You're stuck with him, I'm afraid.”

Outmatched, I nodded, sighing. As much as I didn't want to admit it, Hancock was right. I was completely out of my depth. I had been almost killed twice in less than twenty-four hours, and was woefully unprepared to step out of this room without some way to protect myself. MacCready seemed like a very bitter young man, but he also seemed competent.

“All right then.” Hancock turned on his formidable charm to smooth things along. “So, let's get started with that Pip-Boy of yours. MacCready?”

MacCready set his rifle down on the table, speaking quietly. “Hancock told me a little. Unlike him, I've actually seen a Pip-Boy up close.” He didn't elaborate further, but held out his hand. “May I?” His expression was neutral now, merely showing interest.

I held out my arm. He took it in his hands, examining the Pip-Boy closely, running his fingers gently along the silver piping, even twisting it to get a good look at the sealed intake casings where the vial and antenna were located. I absently noticed his hands were coated in a light dusting of encrusted dirt. Muttering, almost to himself, he said, “Yeah, this isn't like anything I've ever seen before. The material is different, and it's sleeker than any Vault-dweller's Pip-Boy.” He hmmmed thoughtfully as he peered closely at the wires in my arm, nose practically touching my skin, his breath tickling the back of my hand. All I could see was the top of his green cap. “That is definitely weird. I've never even heard of body attachments. Can you remove it?” I nodded, demonstrating. He pulled my forearm a bit closer, lightly tapping the pin receivers before releasing my arm completely. “Huh. I don't know.” He looked up at me, blue eyes piercing, cradling the device in both hands. “You know how to use this thing?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I poked at it a bit, but the instruction manual is back... home.”

He nodded, thinking. “All right. Let's see what I can remember. It's been a while.”

To Hancock's fascination, Fahrenheit's feigned disinterest, and my undivided attention, MacCready showed me what he knew about the mechanism. He demonstrated the built-in flashlight, told me about the internal Geiger counter and pointed to the dial showing my personal radiation level, (“out here, that's super important,” he stressed), extended the wire attachment on the back (“I think this helps you hack into computers, but I'm not great with electronics”) and went over each screen in detail. “They're pretty self-explanatory, actually,” he commented in a slightly condescending tone. To my surprise, the “MAP” page now had a small building-shaped icon labeled “Goodneighbor” underlying the arrow in the center of the screen. (“Wow, you really haven't been anywhere, have you?”) He flicked back to the blank page. “I have to admit, this 'INV' screen has me stumped. It usually stands for 'Inventory,' but now I'm not sure...” he trailed off. Giving a one-shouldered shrug, he handed the Pip-Boy back to me. “I guess we'll figure it out later. I'd keep it attached, though. The fact it links directly into your body is probably significant.”

Once I replaced the device on my arm with the accompanying electrical pulse of activation, Hancock spoke up. “So, you don't know how ya got here.” I shook my head sadly. “Can you at least tell us where you're from? We didn't get that far yesterday” he explained to MacCready, who leaned back into the cushions, crossing his arms.

“P-Pennsylvania.” At the sharp bark of laughter from both Fahrenheit and MacCready, I turned to meet Hancock's widened black eyes. “What?”

“Oh, Sunshine, you're funny.” He gave me an odd grin. “Darlin' there ain't a 'Pennsylvania' anymore,” came the rasped comment. He took another drag from his inhaler, tossing it to the floor behind the couch. “Hasn't been since the bombs dropped 200 years ago.”

“What?!” I felt the shock hit my system. “B-but... no, no, I live there, I swear it!” I pressed my face into my hands, snatching the glasses off my nose first. “I wish I could prove it. Wait!” I dug frantically in my pocket for my wallet. “Here!” My drivers license landed on the table.

Hancock took up the small plastic card, scrutinizing it before passing it to Fahrenheit, who glanced at it before almost immediately flipping it across the way to MacCready. MacCready peered at the license, twirling it deftly in his fingers in an almost fidgety gesture. Hancock shook his head tolerantly. “I already believed you. If you were makin' this up, it wouldn't be so farfetched. And you seem sincere. But this doesn't tell us how you got here.”

“I don't know. It was just a bright blur.” I sighed again. At least my emotions were more controlled today. Hancock and Fahrenheit had been more than patient with my panicked state yesterday, but I didn't want to push their generous hospitality with another breakdown. “I wish there was some way you could look into my head...see what I saw.” All three of the others suddenly sat upright, staring at each other, then at me. “What? What did I say?”

“The Memory Den?” hazarded MacCready, looking at Hancock.

“Good idea,” agreed the Ghoul, “but you'll have to pay for it. I'm runnin' low on caps here.” I looked back and forth between the two men as they discussed this, no idea what they were talking about.

“What do you mean? You had plenty.” retorted the sniper.

“Yeah, I did, until we got to your bar tab.” The raspy tenor voice held a mixture of disgust and admiration. “How are you not a raging alcoholic?”

“Lots of practice,” came the reply, a hint of amusement threading through the smooth baritone tones. I gave the young merc a closer look. He barely looked old enough to drink, at least in my world – _Did I just think that? I am not in my own world anymore._ \- The barest lift of a smile teased one corner of his mouth; sarcastic, but a smile. “Can't you convince Irma to do you this one favor?”

“No can do. Irma's been here longer than I have, and she doesn't owe me...more the other way around, I'm afraid.” A dreamy smile lit up Hancock's scarred face. “She's a real professional,” he mused. “Which means she will want to be paid. That's on you.” The last sentence was directed at me.

“What can I do?” I didn't know what they were talking about, but it sounded like there was an initial plan, or at least a vague direction. Hope flared.

“Nothing right now, but we'll change that right quick.” The slender Ghoul stood up, inviting MacCready to join him. “You need to get geared up if you're going to earn enough caps to get anything done,” he explained. “Irma may not owe me any favors, but just about everyone else here does. C'mon, MacCready, let's make a visit to KL-E-0 and Daisy, see what we can scrounge up for your charge.” The couch creaked as MacCready stood up, retrieving his rifle and shouldering it with practiced ease. “Fahr, keep an eye on our friend here. We're going shopping!” The two men strode out of the room; Hancock with a jaunty step, MacCready pacing quietly in tow.


	5. Lessons in Lockpicking

Fahrenheit sat on the couch opposite me. I couldn't help staring at her. She was just so... dangerous. Hancock had called her his bodyguard, and she looked the part. Half her head was shaved, her reddish hair brushed carelessly back on the other side. Her face was set in a determined expression, showing little emotion. She was clad in close-fitting leather armor, small plates of metal riveted to strategic points. The flamethrower she had been working on earlier was propped up against the couch next to her in easy reach. Looking back up at her face, she met my eyes with her own. I tried to give her a tentative, friendly smile. She merely gazed at me with no expression for a few moments, then spoke.

“Hancock has a real soft spot for the underdog. You're lucky he's taken a liking to you.” She looked away, across the room. “If you're going to survive out there, you need certain skills.” Standing up, she stalked over to a counter on the back wall, returning a moment later with a metal lockbox. She placed it on the table in front of me. Then, a small flat-bladed screwdriver landed on the box. A handful of bobby pins cascaded from her hand to skitter carelessly across the scarred wood. “Lots of pre-war safes and cabinets out there, just waiting for someone to come along and empty them.” She pointed to the lock on the front of the box. “Go ahead and try to open it.”

I'd never lockpicked anything in my life. I mean, I was vaguely aware of the idea of lockpicking, manipulating the tumblers to allow the lock cylinder to turn, but that was about it. Fahrenheit stood just behind my shoulder, leaning on the back of the couch, watching and waiting. With a sigh, I picked up the screwdriver and a bobby pin.

The moment I placed the implements to the lock, I felt my Pip-Boy react. A slight tingle whispered through my body as a strange electricity seemed to sensitize my fingers. I couldn't explain it, but suddenly I felt like I knew how to move the bobby pin just _so_ to disengage the tumblers. I twisted the screwdriver and bit back a quiet curse as I felt one of the tumblers slide out of position. Releasing the cylinder, I manipulated the bobby pin a second time. This time, the lock popped open with a small click. The whispering current guiding my fingers ceased the moment the cylinder clicked. I looked up at Fahrenheit, who gave me a slight nod of approval. “Good. It's a start.”

Inside the box was a small pile of bottle caps. “What are these for?” I asked, pushing them around inside the metal container. “Collectors items?”

“Huh,” came the huffed reply. “Those are caps. It's the currency here in the Wasteland, so keep your eyes out for them. Forget that old pre-war paper money.” She reached out to close the box, returning it to its hiding spot in the back of the room. “Keep that screwdriver and those bobby pins, by the way. Think of it as an apology for wanting to shoot you yesterday.”

“Thank you.” I gathered the small pile of bobby pins to rest next to the screwdriver, pushing my wallet to one side. Fahrenheit resumed her seat on the opposite couch, taking a pull at a bottle of soda she brought with her. Another can of water had mysteriously deposited itself next to my elbow, and I took it gratefully. Sipping in almost comfortable silence, I looked at my Pip-Boy again. MacCready had left it on the “INV” setting when he gave it back to me. My eyes widened as I noticed there was now a line of text glowing on the screen. Only one word... “Locksmith.” Ignoring the silent Fahrenheit, I stared at the screen, thinking hard.

 _INV obviously doesn't mean “Inventory” like we thought. But what does it mean? Something happened when I went to pick that lock, I felt it. There's no way I could pick a lock, any lock, in two tries without serious help. Almost like... like it enhanced something? No... wrong letters, and I don't have an ability to_ be _enhanced. Hmmm... I N V. What could that stand for?_ I wracked my brain, trying to think of every word I knew that started with “Inv.”

“Invoke!” I said aloud, earning an irked glance from Fahrenheit. “Sorry,” I apologized. “I think I figured out what this screen is.” A raised eyebrow and a shrug was her only response. _That must be it, the Pip-Boy invokes a talent needed in the game... but this isn't a game, it's too real. I don't know! It doesn't make any sense... I just want to go home._

Before I could descend into an unhealthy mental fugue, the doors opened with a bang, revealing Hancock and MacCready, arms laden and bristling with weapons. They swept aside the scattered debris on the low table, me barely snatching up my meager new possessions in time, and deposited their cargo in a careful heap. Hancock picked up something dark brown and tossed it at me. I managed to catch it before it smacked me in the face. Turning the item over in my hands, I realized it was a largish leather jacket, scarred and... bloodstained? Some effort had been made to remove the worst of the soaking, but enough discoloration remained to identify. A slight squeak escaped my throat at the realization.

Hancock gave me a broad grin. “That's for you, courtesy of Finn.” He plopped back on the couch next to Fahrenheit, ignoring my horrified expression. “It gets cold at night, and I noticed you don't have a coat.”

“But,” was all I could get out.

“Take it,” Hancock urged me.

“Yeah,” chimed MacCready, sorting through the weapons stacked on the table. “He's not using it any more.”

I looked at the jacket. It was thick, with a warm softer lining, and would probably even offer some slight protection if I were to be attacked again. Crumpling it in my lap, I just had to know, “Is this normal? To... to... well, loot from the dead?”

Hancock chuckled, crunching on another of his ubiquitous tablets. MacCready paused to give me a disbelieving look. “Yeah,” was the simple reply from both of them. “Why not?” the sniper continued, aggrieved. “If you need it and they don't, it makes sense.”

“I guess...” I conceded, dubiously. _This is not your world. You need to learn the rules here._ Firmly stomping on my misgivings, I donned the jacket. It was a bit big, but warm, and had several scattered pockets that could come in handy. I saw Hancock giving me an appreciative once-over. “Looking good, Sunshine.”

MacCready rolled his eyes. “Here,” he said, catching my attention to gesture to the table. “If you're going to stay alive, you need a weapon. Hancock mentioned how helpless you were when you showed up here.” His tone was even, but a hint of condescension came through. My angry huff caused him to glance up from the pile of firearms.

“I was in shock, yes,” I stated, flatly. “Running for my life from a trio of murderous thugs who were trying to kill me.” Anger threaded my clipped tones, _how dare he belittle my very real danger_ , and MacCready's eyebrows rose in response. “Unarmed and in shock is not the same as helpless.” We locked gazes. He had been caught off guard by my outburst, I could tell, but only for a moment. Almost immediately, with a flicker deep in those stunning blue eyes, he regained his cool detachment.

“All right, Boss,” he soothed, voice a low baritone rumble. “Have you ever killed anyone?” he asked, very carefully.

“No.” I looked away. _Damn him, I think he knew that._

“Uh-huh. Ever fire a gun?” I could hear it in his voice, and it irritated me. He was expecting me to say no.

“Yes, I have. Several, in fact.”

“Okay, so we'll just have to...” he broke off, startled. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I said,” and now I swept my gaze across the amused Hancock to rest on MacCready, “I have fired a weapon. Several, in fact. I was in the Army for a while.” I let that little tidbit from my past lay there.

Hancock let out a whoop of laughter. “Ha! She got you there, MacCready!” He pulled Fahrenheit in for a side hug, and she briefly allowed it before swiftly standing up and walking away. “Sunshine, keep him on his toes. He needs it.”

MacCready grumbled under his breath. “All right, all right.” He faced me again. “What did you use?”

“Mostly the M16A2 rifle or the M4 carbine. Uhh, they're both 5.56 rounds. We were also introduced to pistols, a couple different machine guns, and the rocket launcher, but I never really used those. Oh, and I had an M203 grenade launcher for a bit.”

“Grenade... launcher?” was the confused query. He looked down at the line of weapons.

I coughed slightly in embarrassment. “Um, yeah. I, ah, can't throw a grenade to save my life... literally. Had to get a waiver to graduate Basic Training. My first duty assignment gave me the 203 to... compensate.”

“Okay then, no grenades for you,” the sniper declared. Hancock lost it at that, laughing and slapping the arm of the couch. MacCready's lips twitched, the movement emphasized by his slight beard. “Here.” He handed me a rifle. “See what you think of this.”

I took the weapon in my hands and, instinctively following my training, angled it up and away from the others to pull on the charging handle to examine the chamber. It was empty. I released the bolt and turned on the safety. Looking up, I caught an approving nod from MacCready. “All right, I believe you've had some weapon training.” He handed me a thigh pouch, one that matched the one he wore on his right leg. “Put this on to hold your ammo. We're going to pick out a couple of these to see what suits you best. KL-E-0 very graciously allowed us to temporarily raid her stock of weapons, but we can only keep two.”

“And you'll have to pay her eventually, though I did manage to wrangle a good discount for you.” Hancock added.

“Thanks, Hancock,” I said, gratefully “but I'm already deep in your debt. What can I do to pay you back?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” he replied lustily, sitting up with a hopeful expression lighting up his eyes, licking his lips until Fahrenheit came over to swat him across the back of the head, knocking his tricorner hat clean off. “Oh, um, yeah, that's uh, probably not what you meant.” Slouching back dejectedly, he thought for a moment, resettling his hat. “Tell you what. Don't worry about paying me back. Pay it forward by helping the little guys out there, all right? People should have the freedom to live their lives as they see fit, and no one has the right to take that away from them. You do that, I'll call it even.” He ignored the muttered protest from MacCready, and held out his hand to me.

I shook it. “Deal. I'll do what I can to help others.” _I have no idea_ how _, but I'll try my best._


	6. Lessons in Marksmanship

Going over the selection of weapons with MacCready, we picked out a combat shotgun, something called a pipe pistol, and a laser pistol, a gun I had never heard of before but was interested in trying, to accompany the rifle already by my side. We loaded up with rounds for each of them and left to make our way to an old tunnel underneath the basement of the Old State House to do some target practice and make some final decisions. It was the first time I had left Hancock's office since arriving in Goodneighbor. My stomach was full of butterflies as MacCready and I descended the creaking spiral staircase, passing several armed guards on the way, both human and Ghoul. They gave the two of us mildly curious looks, but the sight of us openly carrying weapons and ammunition caused no comment.

We made it to the tunnel without incident. The far end was collapsed, dirt and rubble spilling into the passageway. It was as good a place as any to test out firearms, though my ears were going to be hurting from the noise of gunfire. We lined up the selected weapons against the side wall, and I began with the most familiar of the lot, the rifle.

It had been a couple of years, but I soon fell back into the rhythm of loading the magazine, cocking the bolt to load, sighting on a target – a chunk of discolored rotten wood – switching the selector lever from safe to semi, and squeezing the trigger. MacCready stood behind me watching, arms crossed. My first shot wasn't too bad, but it was off-center. I adjusted my sights and tried again.

This time, when I put the butt of the rifle to my shoulder, I again felt the tingle of electrical assistance from my Pip-Boy. _Wait, shooting too?_ My hands steadied, and it seemed like the whole world slowed down, allowing me to hyper-focus on my target. I squeezed off another round in this trance-like state, almost unsurprised when it hit the piece of wood dead center. Though much more accurate, I also felt more fatigued for a moment, like the act of assisting my aim drained my energy in a way not reflected during lockpicking.

“Nice shot,” commented MacCready.

“It wasn't just me, though.” I set the rifle against the wall, turning to show him my Pip-Boy. “Look.” The screen now had a second line of text, this one reading “V.A.T.S.” I sighed. _Another acronym. I swear it's like I'm back in the Army._

“Huh.” MacCready took off his hat to scratch his head, revealing a thick mess of unkempt light brown hair. “That's useful, I guess.” Replacing his hat, he shrugged. “Not 'Inventory' then.”

“I think it means 'Invoke.'” I hazarded, hoping he wouldn't scoff at the idea. “Like invoking special technology? I can't explain it, but it's almost like it sends signals through these wires to assist my movements. I can feel it happening.”

He looked thoughtful for a brief moment, stroking his beard. “That's as good a guess as any.” Aside from that one comment, he seemed completely indifferent to my revelation. Picking up the shotgun, he handed it to me. “Try this one.”

And so we passed most of the day in the tunnel. MacCready, despite his prickly aloofness, was a pretty good instructor, gruffly teaching me how to most effectively use the firearms we brought down to try. When I admitted I had never seen a laser weapon before, he took the time to show me how to load the cells, where the safety was, and how to line up the sights.

At my insistence, we also tested the limits of the “V.A.T.S.” assistance from my Pip-Boy. Unlike the automatic aid during lockpicking, I discovered I had to focus in a particular way to trigger the Pip-Boy's support. Each shot was much more accurate than I could manage alone, but also tired me out more quickly, limiting the number of rounds I could fire that way before I had to release my control. MacCready was rather apathetic about the endeavor, commenting only that it may come in handy for moving targets.

By the end of our session, I had decided to keep the original marksman's rifle, its similarity to the M16 a familiar comfort. The second weapon was a tough choice, and MacCready strongly suggested I take the laser pistol. As much as I personally disliked handguns, (they were too easy to aim in an unexpected direction) he pointed out that it was pretty powerful for its size and weight, and would be more easily hidden if I needed to be stealthy. He was the expert, so I grudgingly strapped it to my leg.

It was late afternoon by the time we returned to Hancock's office on the third floor. Hancock himself was in the back corner of the room, discussing some business or another with Fahrenheit and some members of his guard, the neighborhood watch as MacCready explained briefly. Rather than interrupt him, we loaded up with the discarded weapons on the low table and headed back down the stairs.

The first shop upon exiting the Old State House was our goal, bearing the rather descriptive sign “Kill or Be Killed” and showcasing a large variety of guns, armor, and ammunition for the discerning buyer. A large robot stood motionless behind the counter. I thought it was one of the available items for sale until we reached the counter, placing the firearms and unused ammunition gently on top. That's when it moved, stepping forward to retrieve the guns and addressing us in a sultry, dangerous, low alto voice. “Done already, MacCready? I assume you made your selections.”

“All done, KL-E-0,” he replied, “thanks a lot for your help. We're going to take the rifle and that new laser pistol. We'll get you the caps as soon as we can.” The tone he used with KL-E-0 was friendlier than anything I'd heard yet come out of his mouth. “This is the lady I was hired to look after. She's the one who needed the guns.” He stepped back and gestured. “Boss, this is KL-E-0.”

I couldn't help myself. “You're a robot! That's amazing!” Behind me, I could feel MacCready's eyes on my back, boring into my shoulder. “Um, oops. Thank-you-for-your-help,” I felt my cheeks reddening in an embarrassed blush. “Sorry, but you are pretty amazing.”

“I'm a woman, baby.” came the seductive reply. “A very deadly woman, like you may some day become if you use those weapons right.” She turned away from me impassively to return the guns to her inventory.

“KL-E-0 runs this shop, and she is one of the most important people you'll get to know around here.” MacCready's voice was cool and distant again. I stole a glance behind me. He had crossed his arms and was frowning at me slightly.

“Oh really, MacCready?” called another female voice from the shop next door, low and husky. “What about lil' ol' me?”

At this petulant outburst, the dour sniper actually broke into a genuine smile. “How could I forget about you, Daisy?” he exclaimed, oozing a sudden flirtatious charm completely at odds with his previously indifferent attitude. He cheerfully stepped around to enter the other shop, and I followed, my curiosity strongly piqued.

Daisy's Discounts was a much simpler affair. A mostly empty room held a large counter in front, behind which, I assumed, held the wares of the proprietor leaning possessively against it. When I saw Daisy, I was secretly very, very glad I had already met Hancock and had learned about Ghouls. She was another Ghoul; skin deeply wrinkled and scarred from radiation, eyes endless pools of black. Unlike Hancock, she had a beautifully styled head of hair, a bit at odds with her shriveled body. She held herself with a certain attractively graceful self-confidence, dressed in a smart tailored business suit. I don't know why, but I liked this personable lady immediately. She was sharing a quiet chuckle with MacCready, pushing a half-filled backpack across the counter at him. She then turned to face me.

“So, you're the young lady Hancock told me about,” she crooned pleasantly. “Welcome to Goodneighbor. I'm Daisy, owner of Daisy's Discounts, as if you couldn't already tell. I buy and sell just about everything.”

I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Daisy,” I said, determined to make a better impression than I did with KL-E-0. “I'm Anne.” To my surprise, I noticed that MacCready was still smiling slightly at Daisy.

She shook my hand, her grasp warm and firm. “Nice to meet you, too. Not afraid of Ghouls, I see.” She chuckled throatily, “I like that.” Letting go of my hand, she resumed her proprietary stance at the counter. “You MacCready's new boss?”

“I... think so,” I answered tentatively. “Although it was Hancock who hired him, not me.”

MacCready rolled his eyes at me in a sudden change of mood. “Like I told you before, it doesn't fuc-- errm... it doesn't matter who fronts the caps. I'm paid to watch your back. That makes you the boss. Act like it.” With an aggrieved sigh, he snatched the backpack from the counter and stalked out into the courtyard. “Come on, we have more to discuss and I need a drink.

I started to follow, but before I finished turning Daisy had grabbed my jacket. Speaking in a low drawl, she said with a confidential murmur, “MacCready's a damn fine shot, and a good fighter to have at your side. Don't let his prickly attitude bother you too much.” She let me go then with a wink, adding, “He's not looking for a friend, but I think he needs one.” I stared at her for a long moment before an irritated shout reached both of us.

“Geez! Are you coming or not?”

I hastened out into the brick courtyard to the sound of Daisy's low chuckle.


	7. The Third Rail

MacCready led me to the side of the Old State House and the former subway entrance beneath the building. Another neon sign proclaimed “The Third Rail” in the entrance. He was moving with purpose and I had to stretch my legs to catch up with him. We breezed past the well dressed but obvious bouncer, another Ghoul who ignored MacCready, but greeted my approach with, “Hancock says newcomers are welcome in the Third Rail. Go on in.”

“Thank you!” I tossed over my shoulder as I strove to keep up. I barely had time to register the patchy tiling, the curved tunnel, and the stairs leading down to what was obviously an old subway station-turned-bar. _Clever._ A beautiful woman in a sequined red dress was singing in one corner, and there were several other patrons scattered about on various bits of scrounged furniture ranging from couches to old diner booths. MacCready had claimed a small two-seater table in the back corner, and I hastened to join him, not quite trusting the good intentions of the other patrons. He was sitting with his back to the wall, and I scraped the other chair around to be next to him, against the other side of the corner, rather than have my back exposed. His perpetual frown deepened slightly when I first rearranged the chair, but when he saw my precautions, he nodded.

“So, this is obviously a bar.” I began. “Do they serve food here, too?” My stomach had been nagging at me for hours, the not-apples I ate this morning having worn off quite some time ago.

“If you want to call it that,” he said, digging into his pocket. “Here,” and a handful of bottlecaps poured into my cupped palms. “Go get us a couple of beers and whatever's on the menu.”

I looked at the pile of bottlecaps, then back up at MacCready. “I thought I was the boss here,” I said, tentatively testing my authority. _Act like it, huh?_ I didn't really want to go. While my panic attack had departed, hopefully permanently, the last thing I wanted was to push my stability with too many stimuli. My hopes were dashed when he shook his head firmly.

“Sorry, Boss! It's 'you point, I shoot' not 'you point, I fetch drinks'.” He ostentatiously leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head, a mocking grin teasing across his features. “I'm paying, so you can fetch and carry this time. Go get the beer and some food. Hell, get us a job if you can.” His voice was challenging, adding, “We could both use the caps.”

I sighed. _All right, you can do this. You're armed; you're wearing a bloodstained jacket for godsakes, no one is going to mess with you._ Closing my fingers around the pile of caps, I made my way over to the bar, trying to move with a confidence I didn't entirely feel. Behind the bar was another robot. This one, however, didn't even come close to looking humanoid. A roundish silver body was held aloft with a small rocket propulsion system, three large metallic arms moved swiftly and decisively to mix drinks, take payment, and generally keep business moving swiftly. A small Union Jack was painted on the front, and a dark brown derby hat sat perfectly balanced on top of its... head? As I bellied up to the bar, three extendable eyes turned to face me. “What'll it be?” _Of course he has a British cockney accent._

“This your place?” I asked, trying to start off on the right foot. All three eye lenses widened and narrowed in unison at my question.

“What? Nah, gov'. This place is Hancock's. Old Charlie just keeps the floor clean and the drinks dirty. So you buyin' or what?”

“Uhh, I'll have two beers and two of whatever is for dinner.” _So Hancock owns this place. Guess he's pretty powerful... better stay on his good side as much as I can._ “Oh, and can I get a glass of water?” I knew MacCready said to get two beers but I wasn't much for alcohol, being a serious lightweight on that front. I figured I could do with water and let the sniper have both beers. Maybe it would mellow him out a bit. “And if you happen to know of any, umm, jobs that need doing...?” I hazarded. _What the hell, why not?_ Charlie the robot bartender went still for a moment, then swung into action.

“Tap water? Your funeral, mate.” He jibed, loading up a tray with two bottles, cutlery, two largish platters of a chunky stew, and a glass of liquid that almost looked like water. “That'll be 40 caps, up front.” I counted out the caps, putting the remainder on the tray to give back to MacCready. “As for a job...” he said, metallic voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “I may have a proposition for you.”

My hands froze in the act of picking up the tray. “I'm listening,” I replied, trying not to sound too eager. A job?

“I got a certain anonymous client who's payin' top dollar for a cleanup job. Got a little bit of a rat infestation, you could say. Three locations. Everything inside. No witnesses.”

“Rats?” _I think I can handle some rodents._ But, “No witnesses?” I asked, curiously. It was an odd requirement.

“Yes, mum,” and Charlie chuckled a little ominously. “The client has a certain reputation to maintain, and the job's in town, so we can't use any of our regular... exterminators. The job's 200 caps. Payment after it's done. And don't worry... I'll know when it is. ”

200 caps sounded like a lot to me. “Okay. How does this work?”

“Lucky for me you have one of those fancy Pip-Boys. I'll mark the locations on your map, you go and clean 'em out without anyone seeing. Come back here when you're done and we'll square up.” He gestured with one of his arms. I re-balanced the tray, holding my Pip-Boy out to him. A couple of quick taps on the screen and, “All right, you're set. Now stop crowding my bar.”

Bemused, I picked up the tray and walked back to our table. _Well, no one tried to kill me. That's a good sign._ And _I got a job!_ MacCready was still leaning back in his chair, hands cradling the back of his head. He looked to be watching the singer on stage, but I got the distinct impression that those eagle eyes of his missed nothing going on. I slid the tray on the table and took my seat next to him.

“What took so long?” he griped, grabbing one of the beers and a platter of food. “Ugh, Radroach surprise. Oh well, at least it's hot.” He tucked in, practically inhaling the meal in a way that only a hungry young man could manage without choking. I sat there for a moment, stunned at the display, then his words sank in.

“Radroach surprise?” I echoed, looking dubiously down at the platter in front of me. “You eat bugs?”

MacCready took a swig of beer and explained, mumbling around mouthfuls of food. “After the war, the bugs mutated into something you'd rather not deal with, roaches being one of the most common. The silver lining is that they have a good bit of meat on their bones.” He paused, “well, not bones, but you know what I mean? Lots of stuff got irradiated, and mutated in bad ways.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Rats?” I asked, guessing the answer. To cover my trepidation, I speared a lump of radroach and tried it. It was... not good. I probably would be able to keep it down, but it was definitely something you ate to keep alive, and not because you enjoyed it.

“Rats, yeah,” MacCready nodded. “Mole-rats, actually. Those fuc--errr, those bastards can burrow underground without you knowing and jump right out at you.” He took another swig of beer. “And their bites are nothing to sniff at. Why do you ask?”

“I may have gotten us a job,” I began, and he sat up suddenly with an intense look, “getting rid of some rats in town.” I picked at the plate, managing a few more bites. It was food, and I was hungry. Maybe radroach is an acquired taste. _I hope so. It certainly explains why everyone is so lean, if this is the kind of food they have._ I grabbed for the water to wash it down.

“You,” he said, suspicion coloring his smooth tones, “got us a job already?” His eyes flicked from me to the robot bartender and back again. “Rats. I see.” Noticing the glass in my hand, he caught at it, too late to stop me from taking a drink. “What the hell?” he exclaimed.

The water was terrible! It tasted loamy and metallic, nearly burning my mouth and throat on the way down, settling into my stomach with an uneasy nauseating lurch. My Pip-Boy crackled in response. I set down the glass hard, grabbing for the second beer that MacCready had swiftly opened, _pocketing the cap, you sneak,_ and taking a swig of the skunky stuff. “What the-?” I spluttered.

“Yeah Boss, you _don't_ want to drink that stuff if you can help it.” He lectured unnecessarily as I gulped another mouthful of terrible beer. “The water's all irradiated here, unless it's labeled otherwise.”

“Lesson number eight, or is it ten now?” The sarcasm in my voice leached through, despite my efforts to sound neutral. The food was barely edible, the water was irradiated, bugs were monsters big enough to serve as a meal, people had to walk around armed to the teeth. I had to find a hint of humor in this, however dark and caustic, or I was going to lose my grip. To my surprise, the bitter sniper actually half-grinned at my jab.

“I don't know. I lost count when we got to 'people are people even if they're a robot'.” He actually chuckled quietly, sarcastically. “Maybe you should write a book- 'The complete idiot's guide to getting yourself killed in less than a day in the Commonwealth'.” I just stared at him. That... was actually funny, but I couldn't let him know that.

“Ha.” I said, dead-pan, and went back to struggling through my meal.

“Anyway, Boss, what's this job you got for us?” He leaned forward with a serious expression, dropping his voice a little so as not to be overheard.

“Charlie said that an anonymous someone wants us to clear out three warehouses.” A nod in response. “They have a rat problem, and can't risk their reputation, so we have to do it unseen. He was very firm about no witnesses for some reason.” I finished my plate and looked up to see an intense blue gaze. “He's paying 200 caps.”

“That's all?” MacCready closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Fuc-- I mean, geez Boss!”

“What?”

“Time for another lesson. Always haggle for a better price.” His voice was emphatic. “Always.” He tapped the table, a little irritably. “People are always trying to either rip you off or plant a knife in your back. You have to keep an eye out for number one.” His voice was bitter, and there were shadows in his eyes that spoke of hard experience. “You should have gotten at least 100 caps each to clear out a warehouse, even if they're just in town.” He finished his beer. “Oh, and you do realize we're not going after rats, right?” he added, almost too casually.

“What do you mean?” I was confused. If mole-rats really were that big and dangerous, hiring a couple of guns to clean them out made sense. It's not like one could get traps that big.

“Charlie was being coy. We'll be hunting down people.” He shook his head at my blank expression. “People that our anonymous employer wants dead. Welcome to mercenary work, Boss.”


	8. The Rexford

I was speechless. I could feel the blood draining from my face as the realization of what I had agreed to do swept over me like a suffocating wave of emotion. _I've never killed anyone before. I don't even know if I can!_ My hands clutched the beer bottle as if it were a lifeline to sanity and I managed to lift it to my mouth shakily and take a swig. MacCready sat silently watching me, waiting to see what I was going to do next. I took a deep breath, staring at the lip of the bottle, trying to rationalize things.

_All right. This is a different place with different rules. If I'm going to survive long enough to get home, I need to roll with it._

Breathe.

_To survive, I obviously need to be armed. Guns cost money, caps. Therefore, I need caps. To earn caps, I need to do work. That work apparently involves killing other people._

Breathe.

_Hancock, Fahrenheit, and MacCready all act like this kill or be killed attitude is normal. Hell, Hancock killed a man right in front of me and later gave me his jacket! Fahrenheit is a bodyguard, she's had to have killed people. MacCready is a hired sniper. All killers, all able to survive._

Breathe. I glanced up at MacCready, who was still watching me quietly. I studied his face while I thought.

_MacCready advised me to look out for number one. Hancock hired him, the best gun in the Commonwealth he said, to help me. I think I'd better follow his example if I'm going to stay alive. Guess I'd better learn to... to kill... on command._

I may have come to a decision, but it didn't sit well in the slightest. I knew I was heading for some serious nightmares, but what other choice did I have? Best to dig deep and revive the fighting spirit that got me through the military, and grow a pair.

“All right.” My voice cracked a little, despite trying my best to sound confident. “Let's do this.”

“You got it, Boss.” MacCready stood up at that, grabbing the backpack and hitching his sniper rifle more firmly in place. “Come on, we'll need to get an early night.” He crossed the room with a wave to the singer, climbing the steps to go back outside. I hastened to follow.

At the entrance, instead of turning right to go back to Hancock's office, he headed left. I caught up with him, looking around at a second open area. Immediately in front of our path was the neon sign for The Memory Den that he had mentioned this morning, but that was not our goal. We passed a small group of drifters milling around in the early evening. It became apparent where we were headed when I spied the neon sign announcing the Hotel Rexford. _Lots of neon, sheesh_. MacCready was humming quietly under his breath, pleased. When he saw my inquiring look, he explained. “Perfect example of brilliant negotiating; I got Hancock to provide us a room here while I'm under contract to you. Learn from me and you'll be rolling in caps.”

We entered the run-down hotel, heading for the front desk. A no-nonsense black lady with a neat head of stark white hair sat behind it. She barely looked up, her voice stern, “MacCready. Hancock already arranged everything. Here,” and she held out a key on an old hotel-style keychain. “Top floor. Long hallway. Last door on the right. Don't disturb the other guests. Complaints about the room? Two words: 'Care' and 'Don't.' You tell me when you're finished with it, since the mayor didn't know how long that was going to be.” Her speech over, she hunched back over the terminal on the desk in front of her. Dismissed, we made our way upstairs.

The room matched the rest of the hotel décor. It was worn down, not quite clean, and had obviously suffered quite a bit of damage in the past, most of which had been haphazardly repaired. There was a long couch near the door, one double bed in the back corner, and a couple of low tables and desks placed about. The filthy windows were covered in old, tattered curtains that had probably not been moved in decades. A small door led to a tiny bathroom, dingy and water-stained. I was appalled. MacCready however had flung the backpack down, sinking into the couch cushions with every appearance of satisfaction. “This is more like it,” he announced. “Okay, Boss, time for another lesson before we catch some shut-eye.” He dumped the contents of the backpack on the table and motioned me over. “I'm going to act as if you're a complete bonehead, okay?”

“Considering I pretty much know nothing about anything, that's just fine.” I said, sitting down at the opposite end of the couch. “Go for it.”

A variety of objects, mostly medical chems, were scattered across the tabletop. One at a time, MacCready showed them to me, telling me what they were, explaining their use, and splitting up the items so we each had some. The palm-sized injector was a stimpak, and was probably the most important item I would ever carry. If injured, stab the stimpak near the area and the drug would go to work, swiftly stopping bleeding, closing wounds and speeding healing far beyond normal means. Even broken bones couldn't defeat the compound. It was a literal lifesaver. Next were some painkilling syringes called Med-X, self-explanatory. Then came a set of tablets to help withstand radiation, “creatively” named Rad-X. Lastly, for now, was a small IV bag containing an orange liquid and the words “Rad-Away” scrawled in thick black letters across it. Another amazing scientific breakthrough, Rad-Away was able to remove radiation and its effects from the body. A couple of cans of purified water (“this is the stuff you should be drinking”) rounded out the lot.

Looking over the scattered meds, I didn't see the canister that Hancock had given me the night before. “Hey, MacCready? Hancock gave me an inhaler thing, a red one, last night to help me breathe more easily, but I don't see it here. What was it?”

His expression grew stern. “And you took it? Trusting of you, but stupid. You're lucky that Hancock was trying to help you, you know. Some of the chems here can really mess you up.”

I met his frosty gaze with one of my own. “I couldn't breathe! He had already helped me...” I threw up my hands in defeat. “All right, it was stupid; the stuff opened my airway, but knocked me out cold. What was it?”

“It's called 'Jet'.” MacCready started to sort through the scattered medications. “Raiders like to use it. It's supposed to calm you down, help steady your hands, that kind of thing. Use too much and you get jumpy and jittery. Since he's a Ghoul, Hancock has amazing tolerance for the stuff. I don't think you should take it any more, though, if it affected you that strongly. Stick to what we have here, and only if needed.”

“No worries, MacCready,” I assured him, shaking my head. “I prefer being in control of my own mind.”

There was enough there for both of us to get at least one of the items, and two stimpaks. MacCready handed me the backpack. “Here,” he said, opening one of the side pockets. “Put those in there. Keep this, a pack comes in really handy when you need to carry loot.”

Aid safely stowed in the pack, we proceeded to take out our weapons to clean and go over them for our upcoming mission. I tried not to think too hard about what we were going to do, but needed to get MacCready's expertise on how to go about it. During the span of our maintenance session, we hashed out the plan to get an early night's sleep and sneak out to hit the warehouses a few hours before dawn. The neighborhood watch, he told me, was pretty thin at that time, and not very alert. We would probably have to break in, but I was pinning our hopes on my newfound lockpicking assistance. Once inside, we would try to eliminate our targets (I couldn't let myself think of them as people) as quickly as possible, preferably from hidden cover. Any loot on the targets was fair game, ammo and caps being prime finds, but chems like stimpaks were also extremely welcome. If we could carry it, extra guns could be sold to KL-E-0 or Daisy for additional caps. I let him talk, listening carefully. MacCready had a pleasant voice, a melodic baritone that was full of emotion. When he wasn't being a sour bastard, he was almost agreeable to be around, if a bit condescending. Once he wound down with his lesson, he took a few moments to reassemble his sniper rifle in silence. His hands moved almost hypnotically, precise motions that spoke of long familiarity to weapons use.

“How,” I began quietly, testing his mood. “How do you know all this?”

“I've been doing this kind of thing since I was a kid.” he replied, adding “Living in the Wasteland is often a matter of life or death. Being able to shoot, especially from a distance, that's a talent I had to discover. Earning caps doing it is a bonus.” He leaned against the arm of the couch, giving me a somber look. “You can't tell me you haven't learned that lesson yet.”

“I'm learning it now,” I countered, stung. Finishing my own ministrations, the rifle snapped together with a satisfying click.

“I thought you said you were in the Army,” He pressed, a hint of doubt crossing his face with a frown.

“I was!” I protested. “But I never saw combat,” was my feeble caveat.

“O-kay” drawled the response, his eyes widening skeptically. “How can you be in the Army, but never see any fighting?”

“Where I'm from,” _did I really just say that?_ “the Army was huge... like its own microcosm of society. You had combat arms; infantry, artillery, special forces, rangers, snipers...” and I waved a hand at him from the other side of the long couch, “the guys who did all the front line fighting.”

“I get that part.”

“Then you have combat support. For every combat Soldier in the field, it takes a whole bunch of other people to keep him in fighting trim. Combat support were the helicopter pilots, military police, communications, et cetera. Those guys weren't primarily the front line fighters, but were usually right next to them.”

“Makes sense,” was the laconic comment.

“Finally, you have the combat service support. That's everyone else, from cooks, to medics, to administration- the paper pushers who made sure everyone got paid, supply, and every other job necessary to keep a society running.” I hoped it was enough to satisfy his curiosity.

“Doctors?”

I nodded.

“Must be nice, though stimpaks are good in a pinch. So what did you do, if there were so many jobs in your Army society?” He was looking at me directly, and raised an eyebrow when I didn't answer immediately. I could feel my face heating up, the blush spreading across my cheeks.

“I was 02 Juliet, which was later reclassified to 42 Romeo.”

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed, “Romeo and Juliet? You in the Army or a Shakespeare play? C'mon, Boss, spill it.”

I coughed the answer into my hand.

“Didn't catch that, Boss.” Now he was grinning at me, an actual honest-to-god grin. His arms were sprawled across the back of the couch in a lazy pose. _Huh, in private, he's definitely more relaxed, though why do I feel like he's making fun of me?_ “Say it one more time... please?”

I stared at my knees. “Clarinet player.”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, then a whoop of laughter. “You're fuc-- errr...” he broke off, snickering. “You're kidding me, right?” At my crestfallen head shake, he broke out in a hearty laugh again. “You... played _music_... in the Army?” He threw his head back voicing a series of unrestrained guffaws. “Ha ha ha ha... Oh! Oh my god, we're going to die tomorrow, aren't we?” He choked out, wiping away a tear. “Wait'll Hancock hears about this one... I'm gunning with a freaking Army musician!”

My face was absolutely on fire now. I stood up and, in a fit of pique, threw the couch cushion at him, hitting him square on the nose with a puff of dust. “Do not tell Hancock, or anyone else.” I warned him. “I didn't choose to come here, and I'll be damned if my bodyguard is going to make life more difficult for me than it has to be.” I glared at him, wanting to smack that supercilious smirk off his face. “As far as anyone is concerned, I was a Soldier, nothing more. Got it?”

Still laughing slightly, he agreed. “Got it, Boss. No one has the right to know your secrets unless you tell them.” He punched the pillow a few more times, each hit dislodging another cloud of dust. “Gah, they make vacuum cleaners for a reason. Anyway, we need to get some sleep if we're going to hit those warehouses tomorrow.”

“Agreed.” Then the realization hit me. “Um, MacCready? There's only one bed.” Turning around, I was relieved to see him stretching out on the couch, arranging his duster comfortably, and pulling his cap down to shade his eyes. He kept his muddy boots on, though.

“And?” He lifted the cap to peer at me briefly. “You're the boss, you get the bed. I'm fine right here. Sure beats the ground.” He lowered his cap again and, almost before I could blink, had relaxed into a light doze.

 _Lucky. It's going to take me forever to drop off._ I sighed and prepared to get some sleep. The bed had a thin pillow and an even thinner blanket, but once I had settled into the mattress, it wasn't all that bad. I tried again to follow the sniper's lead and relax, focusing on releasing tension one muscle at a time. The day's activities had finally caught up to me and I soon drifted into sleep.


	9. First Blood

A rough hand shook me awake. Groggily, I flailed upright in the dark room, grabbing for my glasses. “Whaa?” MacCready's lean form came into focus, lightly splashed with the reflected red neon light from outside. Satisfied I was up and moving, he retreated back to the couch to finish his own preparations. To my disgust, he looked ready to go, idly scraping the stubble from his cheeks with a wicked-looking combat knife. I blinked a few times, chasing the scattered fragments of sleep from my head before stumping to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Feeling a bit more awake, I returned to see a can of purified water and a small cardboard box of unidentified food sitting on the low table.

“Thanks,” I muttered, tucking in. The water was very welcome, and the food filled the gnawing in my stomach, tasteless but hopefully nourishing.

“No problem, Boss,” came the reply. “I'll just add it to your tab.”

“What? You're keeping count?” _Geez, what a money-grubber._

“Always. Gotta keep things even.” He sheathed the knife, checked his sniper rifle one more time and quietly sauntered to the door. “Ready?” he asked. “Lead the way.”

True to his word, the street was nearly deserted as we made our stealthy way towards the first warehouse. The location markers Charlie put on my Pip-Boy proved accurate and extremely useful, pointing us to the exact door we needed without my having to hunt around the unfamiliar area. We crowded into the recessed doorway, crouching to stay out of sight. MacCready kept watch for any wandering patrols while I focused on the lock.

Exactly like the day before, the minute I touched the lock with bobby pin and screwdriver, I felt the tingle of electricity whisper through my arm, guiding my fingers to the sweet spot. In only a few seconds, the low-quality lock had popped open with a small click, giving us access to the interior of the building.

“Some skill you have there,” commented MacCready, sardonic approval lacing the quiet murmur. I shot him a quick, nervous half-grin. Moving as quietly as possible, we crept inside, pushing the door closed behind us.

Once inside, we hugged the wall, crouching our way along until we were half-hidden behind a stack of wooden crates. The warehouse floor was large and open, piles of crates and shelving shoved in random stacks. A staircase ascended into the shadowy second floor near the back of the room. There were a few open hanging bulbs lighting the area, providing a mosaic of light and shadow that may prove either a benefit or a hindrance. Quiet voices floated across the open area, and my mouth went dry as I spotted our first targets, two men dressed like 1950's gangsters standing watch.

MacCready had already unslung his sniper, maneuvering to get into a good shooting position. I couldn't believe how cool and professional he looked, my stomach was doing somersaults in apprehension. I shakily took out the laser pistol, taking position near MacCready to fire through a gap in the crates, then paused. Feeling his curious gaze on me, I quietly re-holstered the pistol, swinging my rifle into position. I met his gaze, mouthing my explanation in a barely audible whisper.

“Tracers work both ways.” His eyes widened, then narrowed again as he nodded and resumed his position. Yes, the laser pistol was quieter than my rifle, but it speared a bright line of red light every time it fired. The last thing we wanted was to announce our exact location. Sitting with my back against the crates, the realization of what I was about to do crashed upon me uninvited.

_I'm going to kill these men._

I struggled with that thought, my morality colliding with this new reality of kill or be killed. How can I just shoot them, and live with their blood on my hands? I fought to keep my breathing quiet and even, needing to keep us from being detected. MacCready glanced up now and again in annoyance, waiting for my signal. _Wait, he's a hired gun, isn't he? Maybe it won't be as bad if..._

I caught MacCready's gaze the next time he glanced up at me. Pointing to the two gangsters, I gave a whispered command, the three words that would forever change my life, “Take them out.”

_Crack! Crack!_

_No, that didn't help at all._

The men fell, blood spurting from what remained of their heads, their bodies going instantly limp in the echo of the deadly shots. The gorge rose in my throat at the crimson spray and I had to turn my head away from the sight. _They're just targets, they're not men._

Upstairs, all hell broke loose. Multiple shouts overlaid the sudden pounding of feet as several more men pounded down the stairs. MacCready coolly fired again, blasting the first man to appear on the staircase. I belatedly swung around to aim through the gap of the crates, adrenaline pumping as the situation flipped from contract murder to self-preservation. By this time, there were two more bodies sprawled on the stairs, slowing the progress of the rest of the armed men. I sighted down the barrel of my rifle, aiming for center mass of the next target. Almost as if it were at one remove, I saw my shot blossom shockingly red on the man's chest, and he fell. _First Blood_ , the realization hit like a train. What came out of my throat was a gurgled whimper.

No more gangsters came down the stairs. I took in a breath, metallic and sour, and forced myself to move from behind the crates. The job was to clear the building, and I knew there was probably at least one or two more men smart enough to not run into an ambush. We were going to have to find them and eliminate them. MacCready shadowed my steps, moving silently. I sidestepped the growing pool of blood in the center of the floor, ignoring the headless corpses for the time being.

At the base of the stairs, MacCready temporarily took the lead, his combat knife a blur of motion as he ensured our targets were dead. He gave me a quick nod after the last body. We crawled up the stairs, not daring to move the splayed limbs in case of noise. Reaching the landing, we moved even more slowly, inching around to ascend the second half. All was quiet. We moved ahead.

As soon as my head came into view of the second floor, a shot rang out from the darkness. I dropped to my belly, but MacCready surged forward with a yell, charging unerringly towards one corner. “Here! Over here!” he called, voice an angry growling shout. Belatedly, I scrambled back up to the second floor, grabbing the laser pistol from its holster. My bodyguard was strafing back and forth, sending rounds towards an upended desk where an unknown number of shadows were hiding. I rushed the desk from the opposite side, hoping the distraction was enough. When I lifted the pistol to fire, my Pip-Boy's V.A.T.S. kicked in and the world slowed as I unerringly focused on one target's profile.

_Bzap!_

The red beam speared my target through the head, and he slumped to one side, jostling the arm of another gangster holding a small machine gun. With a curse, he took a moment to shove free. It was one second too long. MacCready's sniper rifle rang out with one last _Crack!_ and it was over. I sank to my knees. _We did it._ It had taken surprisingly little time, but we still had two warehouses to go.

MacCready was already looting the bodies by the time I shakily joined him. Moving with a ruthless efficiency, he picked out caps and ammunition, going so far as to drop the magazines from the machine guns before setting them to the side. While probably valuable, the firearms were too large to lug around for the rest of the mission. My pack was put to good use storing a couple of small caliber pistols and unneeded ammunition. I let him do most of the looting, my mind still not quite able to fully grasp my transition to paid mercenary. _Mercenaries are professionals, though. You're just a lucky sap with a paid gun to pick up your slack. A gun you didn't even pay for, no less._ I sighed. _Two more to go... you need to do better._

The second and third warehouses were nearly identical hits; picking the lock to MacCready's growing approval, sneaking into cover in the shadows, taking out the dogwatch guards, and decimating the forces awakened above. The second loot of spoils also saw a couple of stimpaks, and some unopened bottles of hard liquor that had MacCready chuckling greedily. We had some trouble in the third warehouse, and my first introduction to a molotov cocktail as one of the gangsters upstairs tossed it onto the landing as we reached it. Fortunately, MacCready saw the arc of flame heading towards us, and roughly pulled us both back to tumble down the stairs, bruised but not burned. My Pip-Boy's assistance came in handy when the remainder of our targets charged down the stairs after us almost before the flames had died down. Hitting a moving target was just as easy as a stationary one with the electrical pulses guiding my hands. I made a better showing of myself, taking out almost as many targets as MacCready, but not as swiftly or cleanly. I still firmly refused to even think of them as men, or I'd lose my nerve.

After everything was said and done, we stepped out of the final warehouse door into a sky just turning light with the first hint of dawn. Our packs were full of scavenged loot, and the pockets of my jacket held a reasonable haul of bottlecaps, shared unstintingly with MacCready. No one was immediately about. None of the shops would be open at this early hour, and I turned to head slowly back to the Rexford. Bartering could wait. My steps shuffled zombie-like across the brick courtyard towards the dubious refuge of the hotel room. The disgust at what I had just done followed me like an invisible miasma of self-hatred.

Once inside the room, I let my pack and rifle slide on to the table as I made a beeline to the tiny bathroom. I shut the door behind me and proceeded to vomit my compassionate humanity into the dirty toilet, sinking gracelessly to my knees and clutching the cold porcelain with numb fingers. Tears streamed down my face and I shuddered in reaction. Soon I was reduced to dry heaving, sobbing quietly at the horrid necessity of it all. _I hate this world. I want to go home._ Small noises from the room without informed me that my mercenary babysitter was there. I didn't want to look at him, shuddering at the thought that he was a paid gun, the heartless killer I needed to become in order to survive. _I hate him, too._

_He kept you alive, you know. Stop projecting your abhorrence to violence on him._

_I don't care. I don't want to be like him, devoid of compassion and ethics._

_You don't know that._

_He wasn't the least bit disturbed. He even looted the bodies!_

_And you've been decisively informed by more than just him that looting the dead is normal. This world is harsh, more violent, more primal than yours._

_I know that now. I want to go home._

_How else are you going to find the way? Adapt, or die._

Almost mechanically, I stood up, legs still shaky, and leaned over the sink. A few moments splashing cool water over my face removed the worst of the tear stains, but I still looked awful, my dark green eyes bloodshot and swollen, cheeks flushed red. Averting my face, I quietly left the bathroom, stumbling over to collapse in a miserable fetal position on the bed.

After a few minutes of silence, I heard MacCready's quiet, neutral voice. “The first time is the worst.”

His words hung in the air between us.

“Look,” he continued, still carefully emotionless, “I know it's hard now, but it gets easier.”

I didn't bother to acknowledge him.

“For what it's worth,” he added, “you did better than I thought you would...”

“Just,” I finally replied, my voice half a sob, “just leave me alone... please?”

“All right, Boss.”

Sore and bruised, I eventually drifted into a drained sleep.


	10. The Memory Den

When I woke up for the second time, the bright sunlight peeking through the rips in the window curtains announced it was probably just after noon. Sleep had restored my mental equilibrium, but I still had very mixed emotions roiling inside. _Take things one step at a time, I guess._ And that next step would be to sell our haul and collect the reward. Still sore from the mission, I dragged myself out of bed to find MacCready.

Like a true mercenary, he had taken the opportunity to catch some sleep as well. He was curled up on the couch, one arm tucked under his head, hat knocked to the floor. In repose, the habitual frown and furrowed brows were smoothed, giving him a much more unguarded, youthful appearance, almost pleasantly attractive. I stood there, watching his even, quiet breathing, trying to square this too-young image with the ruthless gunman who had helped eliminate well over a dozen people just a few hours ago.

“Yeah, that's not creepy at all, Boss.” One deep blue eye cracked open a hint to peer disapprovingly at me. I squeaked, feeling my face heat up, and coughed apologetically.

“Sorry.”

He sat up, yawning. “Feeling better?” was all he asked.

At Kill or Be Killed, KL-E-0 was more than willing to barter caps and ammunition for our haul. That is to say, MacCready received caps. I got to keep the rifle and laser pistol in exchange for my spoils. We both replenished the rounds we had spent obtaining our goods and walked away from the shopfront in good order.

In The Third Rail, we found Hancock and the ever-present Fahrenheit partaking of the bartender's services. We approached the bar, sliding in to sit next to them with a nod of greeting. Charlie addressed us as soon as he noticed us. “I've heard some exterminator cleaned out the rats in the old warehouses. Wouldn't know anything about that, would ya?”

 _Oh, that's how we're going to play it, huh?_ “One Pied Piper, at your service.” I tried hard to keep my voice light, but some frustration still seeped in. Next to me, MacCready grinned sardonically and I suddenly recalled our conversation the night before. _Music, damn it._ “The _rats_ , as you say, have been taken care of.”

“Ah yes, indeed!” beamed the robot, as much as one could beam, anyway, “Here's the payment for your, errrr... performance.” A jingling bag landed on the bar in front of me. I took it, deciding to split it with MacCready later. “So, what'll it be today?”

“Beer and food for two.”

We soon made lunch a memory. “So,” drawled Hancock next to me on the other side from my bodyguard. “First job already? Nice, sister.” He gave me a friendly pat on the back and a flirtatious grin.

“Yeah, Hancock,” MacCready said over my shoulder. “Cleaning up the warehouses in town. I don't suppose you were in on that one, since we picked it up from here.”

“Here in town?” The mayor took a puff on his ubiquitous inhaler, pondering for a moment before letting out a laugh. “Oh yeah, forgot about that one!” He leaned in to whisper to me, “Politics; brutal as ever, ya dig?” Ignoring my involuntary shudder, he added a bit louder. “Looks like you got enough there to give Irma in the Memory Den a visit. She charges 100 caps a session.”

“What will she do? Will she help me get home?” I asked, hopefully, counting the fee into a spare scrap of cloth.

“Truth to tell, Sunshine, the Den's a place where people go to relive their memories.” Hancock explained. “We can't figure out how to get you home if we don't know how you got here.” On my other side, MacCready had lit a cigarette and took a drag, listening closely.

“All I saw was a bright flash, I told you.” I protested, stifling a sneeze at the wafting smoke.

“That's all you _remember_ ,” the Ghoul emphasized. “But with three of us,” and he motioned to include Fahrenheit and MacCready in his count, “going over the memory, we may spot something you missed.”

“Is that even possible?” I asked, stunned. “To watch someone else's memories?” My nose stuffed up, and I dabbed at it absently.

“Why not? I think it's all a matter of how the lounger is programmed.” Tossing some caps on the counter, Hancock stepped away, motioning for us to follow him. “We won't find out here. Let's go pay Irma a visit.”

“All righh—achoo!” I sneezed violently, grabbing for a napkin, a tissue, anything to clear my nose. “Damn cigarette smoke,” I muttered, “makes me sneeze.”

“Oh, for the love of...” griped MacCready, stubbing out the cigarette with a resentful flourish. “Fine, I need to cut down anyway.” He slouched off the chair. “Let's go, then...Boss.”

The Memory Den was an old burlesque theater that had been revamped to house several high-tech lounge pods in a large central room. Most were occupied, glass-paneled lids closed on people who were apparently deep into reliving their memories. Other than a small radio playing music in the background, it was eerily quiet. On a raised platform in the back of the room lounged an elegantly dressed beautiful older woman who greeted us with a low throaty chuckle. “Hancock, you bring a guest!”

“Hey there, Irma. Got a puzzle for you and Amari.” Oozing charm, he sidled up to the proprietor's chaise longue, taking the lady's hand and placing a delicate kiss with withered lips. “A _paying_ puzzle, before you go turning us away.”

Irma met Hancock's gaze for a long, long moment before replying. “All right. We're not currently accepting new clients, but for you I'm willing to make an exception, just this once.” She looked at the small group in front of her. “Who is the client, and what is the puzzle?”

I stepped forward. “It's me, ma'am.” I couldn't help the military formality, and a gentle smile warmed her lips at the courtesy. “I don't know how I got here, and maybe, if they can see my memories, we can figure out what happened and how to get me home.” I held out the makeshift pouch with the required caps. “Please?”

“Hmmm,” she voiced thoughtfully, as the caps disappeared from my hand. “Not my usual request. Dr. Amari?” she called behind her.

“Coming, Irma,” a strongly accented voice called from behind the back wall. A moment later, a thin woman with a severe dark haircut and pristine white lab coat appeared. “What do you need?”

“Hello, dear. See what you can do to help this young lady, please.” Irma waved one graceful hand in my direction. “She says she wants to show her memories to her friends here, not relive them. Can you do that?”

Dr. Amari stood quietly for a moment, holding her chin in a thoughtful pose. “Difficult. But yes, I think we can do that.” She added, quickly, “Not out here. We'll have to use the lab. Come with me, please.”

Behind the old burlesque stage, a set of stairs led down into a room lined wall-to-wall with various computer equipment. Large machines whirred quietly to themselves, and two or three scattered screens scrolled endless lines of text. Placed equidistant from each other were two pod loungers like the ones upstairs, but with additional controls and cables sprawling away towards the bank of equipment behind them. A few random metal tables and two-seat couches filled the rest of the wall space. Dr. Amari was already tapping away at one of the computers by the time we made it down the stairs.

“All right. Will the client please seat herself in the open lounger. The rest of you can observe on this screen, but don't touch anything.” At her words, the pod on the left hissed open, revealing a comfortable looking reclining seat inside. I clambered inside, and the pod hissed closed again, cutting off any sound from without. A screen lowered in front of my face, an old test graphic emblazoned with the words “Please Stand By.”

“All right,” Dr. Amari's no-nonsense voice sounded tinny in the pod's speakers near my ears. “I am going to want you to close your eyes, you won't need the screen, and think of your most recent memory of home.” The instructions sounded simple enough, but my stomach was beginning to flutter. “Ah, you have a Pip-Boy? Excellent. Take the interface attachment and plug it into the flashing port, if you would be so kind. Thank you.”

Plugging into the pod caused a light quivering to thrill along my nerves, an almost dizzying feeling. I gratefully closed my eyes against the vertigo, and focused on home. Home. The word seemed to take on greater meaning and depth as I tried to remember as much as I could. “Yes, that's right,” the tinny voice buzzed from a great distance, “I think we're getting something. Just relax, I'll take it from here.”

The electrical pulse flared and I lost consciousness.

-0-

The buzz of a voice slowly came into lucidity. “...coming around now. Listen to me. Can you hear me? What is your name?” The voice paused, and I turned the words over in my mind, bringing recognition to consciousness. “Open your eyes, slowly, if you can. Listen to me. Can you hear me? What is your name?”

“Mmmm... ugh,” I forced one eye open a crack and immediately regretted it as light speared into the back of by head. “Ow. I can hear you.” My voice sounded odd in the confines of the pod, slurred and uneven.

“That's promising,” the voice soothed, brusquely. “Now for some cognitive tests. What is your name?”

I tried opening my eyes again, this time with a little more success, squinting at the light. “Anne.”

“Good, good.” A pause. “What is one plus two?”

“Three.”

“Good. If I threw a baseball at your head, what would you do?” The questions were coming faster.

“Duck?”

“Excellent. All right, I'm going to open the pod now. You've been in there for quite a while, so be careful and take your time exiting.” The glass panel opened up with a hiss of hydraulics and a dusty odor. Sitting up to detach my Pip-Boy from the pod's system gave me a moment to see the four faces of my observers. Dr. Amari had a look of professional concern. Hancock was grinning broadly, lightly tossing a small jingling bag of bottlecaps. Next to him, Fahrenheit scowled darkly at the bag Hancock was holding, her fingers tapping an irritated rhythm on her crossed arms. MacCready stood leaning against the door frame, face completely expressionless, eyes staring fixedly at me.

Getting out of the pod was a bit more difficult than getting in. Hancock graciously offered me his hand, which I took gratefully. Once I straightened mostly upright, he switched his arm to hold me around my waist, chuckling happily. “I knew your story was too crazy not to be true. Thanks to you and Dr. Amari, I won my bet with Fahrenheit.” Not completely steady on my feet, I leaned into the Ghoul's support. He was warm and stronger than he looked if he was able to hold me upright. Spying a couch near the door, I leaned in its direction, half-pulling Hancock over with me to sit down. Dr. Amari followed, a small orange and white disk file in her hand.

“When you plugged your Pip-Boy into the lounger, it created some kind of feedback into your system, almost overwhelming my equipment.” She paused to add in an aggrieved tone, “I was unaware that your Pip-Boy is actually connected to you, internally. This is the first time I have ever heard of such a thing, and it lends veracity to your story, along with your memories.” The doctor tapped the back of my hand, pointing out the buried sensors. “Intriguing.”

“Have you seen anything like this before?” I asked, not daring to hope.

“Hmm,” she pondered. “Not to this level of sophistication. I have heard of cybernetic enhancements, but they are extremely rare, only able to be made by certain organizations with the technology and resources lost to the rest of us.” At my crestfallen expression, she reluctantly added, “this is far beyond anything I've ever seen before. That flash, the disintegration of the world around you...”

“I thought I dreamed that.” I said, startled.

“Oh no, that was quite real. It happened, and you went from there,” and she pointed down, “to here. Quite astounding, really.”

“Do you have any idea how it happened?” I pressed, almost begging.

“I do not.” Three words that would change my life, again. _That's it. I'm stuck here._ I put my suddenly heavy head in my hands, cupping my glasses.

“However...”

“Aw, come on Dr. Amari,” Hancock implored the oblivious woman, “stop dancing around the subject; you're driving the poor girl out of her mind. Do you know someone who _might_ know what's going on here? Our friend just wants to leave our delightful company and go back where she came from.” To this jab, he added slyly, “not that I blame her, after seeing her home!” He gave me a wink and a lopsided grin when I raised my head to look at him.

Dr. Amari stiffened at Hancock's words. “I... might know of an organization.” She added quickly, emphasizing, “but I can't say much more than that! I do know they don't have the technology to pull something like this,” and here she waved the small disk in her hand, “off. However, they have some of the most brilliant minds I've ever known.” She turned to address me directly, “With your permission, I can send a message to this group and see if they're able to, and interested in, helping you out.”

“Yes!” I agreed unequivocally, “yes, please! Is there anything else I need to do?”

“No. Yes.” Dr. Amari corrected herself. “Go out and show that you're worth being helped. There are lots of nasty things out there in the Commonwealth. The more you stop them from hurting people just trying to make an honest living, the better. If this group likes what they see, they'll contact you. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” I said with all the grace I could muster. _Great, more killing,_ was the bitter thought running through my mind.

“You're welcome.” She handed me the disk. “Hold on to this. It's a compilation of the most relevant memories we discovered pertaining to your... travel... here. Someone with the right expertise might find it useful.” Once I secured the disk in my jacket, she added, “The mind is a very delicate thing, and you've been through a lot recently. Be careful out there.” With that parting advice, she turned back to her work and we made our way back up the stairs.

Irma called me over as we passed her couch, “I couldn't help overhearing what was going on. I have a friend. Nick Valentine. He works out of Diamond City. If you need information, trust me honey, he's the best.” She gave my hand a quick, encouraging squeeze, then let me go to catch up with the others.

I caught up with them just as we stepped out into the square. “Wait a minute?” I asked, startled. “How long was I in that thing?”

The sun had already set, faint stars gleaming overhead beyond the blaze of neon signs and dingy streetlamps. I stopped short, staring at the three as they turned around. Hancock was the only one to answer, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “Longer than normal. We, uh,” and he appeared to choose his words very carefully, “we had to examine your memory in detail, and Dr. Amari had the good idea to record what happened to you on that disk.” He didn't quite meet my gaze. “It took a while.”

 _Now why don't I quite believe he's telling the truth?_ I felt the blood drain from my face, followed by a rush of embarrassed anger. There were some memories that never needed to see the light of day again. _Fuck! How much did they see?_

“So, Sunshine,” he said in a more upbeat drawl, abruptly changing the subject. “looks like you have some do-gooding to do, if you're going to attract the attention of this mysterious organization Dr. Amari can't talk about... and keep your bargain with me.” He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “So, decide where you want to go, and go do good!” Grabbing Fahrenheit into a quick twirl before releasing her to glower at him, Hancock sauntered back to the Old State House and his office, humming “doo bee good bee dood bee goo” in a light tenor rasp. Fahrenheit followed a few steps behind.


	11. Conversation

I was left in the center of the street with a still silent MacCready watching me, face still impassive.

Nettled, I snapped at him, sarcastically, “Yeah, that's not creepy at all, MacCready.” When he didn't respond, I stalked back to the hotel room. Flinging open the door, I stomped over to the couch and flopped down on one end. There was nothing to distract me from the thought that I was an idiot for letting people I barely knew poke around in my memories. Yes, I was desperate to get home, leave this violent, irradiated world, but was it worth the cost of my privacy? My very memories? I didn't even know what to think now, and stared at the wood grain of the low table in front of the couch, fuming.

The door closed with a quiet click. I looked up to see MacCready. He unslung his rifle, placing it on the table then, digging through his own pack for a moment, produced an unopened bottle of vodka and two small glasses, setting them down with a clink. He took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, opening the bottle and pouring two very generous shots, sliding one of the glasses over towards me. All of this was done in silence, the only sounds the scrape of glass and light gurgle of the strong spirits. I watched him, waiting for him to say something. He downed his glass, throwing the mouthful back with a grimace, the first expression that crossed his face since I woke up from the memory pod, and poured a second measure. I didn't touch my glass, not caring for straight liquor. My tolerance for alcohol was low, anyway.

Neither of us spoke. I didn't know what to say, and I was still waiting to hear from my grudging companion. After a moment, MacCready leaned over and placed the glass in my hand. He watched me impassively, obviously waiting for me to drink.

 _Fine, then. Fuck it all._ I knocked back the shot in one reckless motion.

The post-apocalypic vodka was strong. It burned like fire down my throat into my belly, rendering me speechless and almost breathless. My eyes watered and my cheeks flamed. I gasped for breath, nearly throwing the glass back on the table. Through the unbidden tears, I saw the splash of vodka refilling my glass, readying another shot. I shook my head to refuse, wiping my eyes clean. When I looked down, the glass was cradled in my left hand. _How did it get there?_ This time, I sipped the fiery liquid, more for something to occupy me than for the taste, which had disappeared with the first draught. In a very short time, I felt my head floating.

MacCready had already finished his second shot and had poured a third, cradling it in his hand like I was. He sat there for a few more moments, swirling the glass absently before meeting my eyes. It may have just been the alcohol, but he actually looked... unsure? His deep blue eyes were shadowed under the brim of his cap, so it was hard to tell. Taking a deliberate breath, he spoke.

“I... I'm sorry.”

This was not what I was expecting to hear. I stared at him, searching his face for some sign of disdain, a hint of deception, but found none. When I met his eyes again, he continued, ruefully.

“I thought this was some elaborate prank of Hancock's. You know, 'save the damsel in distress' kind of thing? He knew I was looking for work. Since he actually paid up with caps up front, I decided to play along, but I couldn't take you, or your story, seriously. I thought it was some kind of Psycho dream of his that you were in on... figured he was going to fuc—errr, mess with my head for a couple of days until he got bored.” He sipped his whiskey, and I mirrored the gesture.

“You _were_ a bit condescending at times...”

“I know. I was harsher than I should have been, taking out my annoyance with Hancock on you.” He looked around the dingy room, as if seeing it from a new perspective. “When Dr. Amari pulled your memories up on the terminal...” He dropped his head ruefully, wonder coloring his melodic voice. “Well, watching your life parade across the screen, I realized just how different your world is from ours. It's a beautiful world,” he said with a wistful sigh, “but it was also glaringly obvious you were completely unprepared to be here. I mean, Fahrenheit and I? Even Hancock. We're used to doing what needs to be done to stay alive, and shedding blood is a big part of it.” He shrugged, and continued, a note of admiration creeping into his tone. “You really _hadn't_ killed anyone before, and you were trying so hard to do the job right, to keep it together until the mission was over...

“All I can say is I'm sorry, and I'll do my best to not make this any harder on you. I'm guessing as a musician, you're a bit more on the sensitive side, am I right?” I stared in disbelief at his unexpected empathy, tears springing to my eyes.

“Don't worry about it. Try to hold on to that compassion, though. Don't let this world make you bitter before you return to yours. Being a bitter assh-- err jerk is my job.” He drained his glass, refilling it one more time and setting the bottle aside.

“Th-thank you.” I was completely stunned. Here was this professional mercenary, this heartless paid killer, and he was apologizing for being hard on me? He was showing me a depth of understanding, of emotional awareness that I found surprising, and a little touching. _Who is this guy, anyway?_

Then the realization of what he had said filtered through the haze of vodka. “Wait a minute... 'watching my life parade across the screen'... how much did you see?!”

“More than we needed to. Definitely more than we should have.” he admitted, apologetically. “Dr. Amari was having difficulty controlling the memories once your Pip-Boy interface kicked in. She said the flood of information nearly blew out the computer... and that would have been very, very bad.”

I drained my glass at that.

“I tried to say something, but Hancock was absolutely fascinated and Dr. Amari had her hands full trying to control the equipment.” By this time, the strong spirits had definitely kicked in, and provided a buffer from the emotional impact of this brutal, if unintentional, invasion of my privacy. MacCready sighed, setting his empty glass on the low table and lacing his fingers together over his knee. “Until the connection was stabilized, there wasn't much else we could do but watch. And watch... and watch...”

“Oh my goddd,” I moaned, head spinning from the alcohol.

“I know this probably won't help, but none of us will say anything,” he coaxed. “Hancock may be a drug-addled Ghoul, but he has a good heart underneath all those scars. Fahrenheit is too professional to gossip...”

“Annd you?” I asked, when he trailed off. It was difficult to form the words.

“Like I told you before, no one has the right to know your secrets unless you tell them.” He met my eyes with a somber, yet compassionate expression. “We all have secrets, things we don't want people to know. You were the victim of an unfortunate accident that revealed more of your life than you wanted. The good thing is it happened among people who respect the idea of privacy. So, consider it forgotten.” He leaned back against the cushions. “I have to admit, though, it's nice to know you've been telling me the truth. I'm not used to that.”

“Okayy.” My voice was slurred. “Hey... M'Creee... Deeuu... Muhhh... Mac?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Whydywe get... drunk?” _Whee!_

A quiet chuckle. “Wow, that hit you hard. I'm just buzzed. In your case, it was to soften the blow when you found out about your memories.”

“Kayyy.” I leaned my head back, closing my eyes.

“And in my case, liquid courage.” At my inquiring grunt, he elaborated, “I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but as your bodyguard, the task fell to me. I hope the alcohol helps.”

“Mmmmyah.” The room was spinning, and I slumped across the couch, getting my head down and stretching out across the length of the couch. As soon as I started to sprawl, MacCready hastily got up to make room. I wiggled into the worn cushions, finding a comfortable position to let the vodka swirl around in my head.

“Guess I'll sleep in the bed tonight,” was MacCready's amused comment, the last thing that was said between us until morning.


	12. Baby Steps

The next morning, the very first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a can of purified water on the table within arm's reach. It was a very welcome sight, as the vodka had given me a terrible thirst. Sipping gratefully, I turned over the events from the day before in my mind. _So, I accidentally exposed an undetermined amount of my life to a couple of strangers. I am still alive, mostly sane in this fucked-up world, and the parties in question are still civil. Hell, my mercenary guard even apologized for how he had been treating me. It could be a lot worse._ It seemed every day, every crisis was getting a little easier to roll with the punches, just like MacCready had said. _Baby steps, baby steps._

As if my thought summoned him, the sniper opened the door to the room, agilely balancing two trays in his hand. “Good morning, Boss.” The food looked the same as every other meal we'd had in Goodneighbor, lumps of unidentifiable subsistence lightly covered in a watery sauce. But it was hot and filled the belly, so what was the point in complaining? At least it stayed down... mostly. I scooted over to make room on the couch.

As we ate, we discussed my options. Getting home looked like it was turning into a long-term pursuit, much to my distress. I shared the lead that Irma gave me and he considered it. “I've heard of this Valentine fellow,” he said, thoughtfully. “He's a detective. That's all I know. But he may be able to point us in the right direction. Probably worth a shot.”

Leaving Goodneighbor had me a little apprehensive, but I was better prepared now. I had weapons, ammunition, and a hired mercenary to watch my back. While MacCready and I packed our gear, he told me about the dangers of the Commonwealth outside the walled communities. Raiders- humans who were little more than savage gangs, taking what they wanted from who they wanted and killing anything that got in their way. Ferals- Ghouls who were mindless killing machines, endlessly hungering, not at all like Hancock or Daisy. Super Mutants- giant green-skinned humanoids with homicidally violent tendencies and a taste for human flesh. To round it all off, there were various formed of mutated animals and random robots run amok. “I'll tell ya, Boss,” MacCready had commented wryly, “it's no picnic to travel the Wasteland. You need to stay sharp and keep your weapon at the ready.”

“Will do. Do you know where Diamond City is?” I stared at the map screen on my Pip-Boy. It was still distressingly blank.

“Sure,” he replied confidently. “I haven't been there in a while, though. They're pretty uptight, don't like Ghouls or mercenaries.” He motioned to my arm. “I can show you on your map, if you want.”

“What, really?” Charlie had marked the warehouses on my map before, but I thought only another machine could do it.

“Yeah, sure. Anyone can mark a location on your Pip-Boy's map if you let them.” He grinned ruefully, taking off his cap to run his hand through his hair. “I didn't bother before 'cause I thought it was part of Hancock messing with me, remember?” He took my arm, angling the screen so we could both see it, and showed me how to mark a location using the touchscreen controls. I learned that I could even tell my map to remember a specific point, leading me back to that pinned mark from anywhere. “Comes in handy if you have too much loot to carry and need to stash something.”

“Thanks, MacCready. You're a wealth of useful information.”

“And the best gun in the Commonwealth,” he added lightly with a cocky grin.

We left Goodneighbor in the clear light of mid-morning. Diamond City was a good three hour trek across the length of ruined Boston, not counting any resistance we might face along the way. I kept the map screen selected, watching as the arrow marker made its torturous way towards our goal. There was also a compass-like bar at the top of the screen, which made reckoning by cardinal directions a breeze. We walked along the streets, our meandering path necessary to skirt impassable sections of the city.

This was the first time I had seen any of the wider post-war Boston, and I was shocked at the devastation. MacCready occasionally commented on the war and the former landmarks as we passed. “The Red Chinese Army dropped nuclear bombs all across the country,” he had said. “They targeted large cities and military sites. Most people didn't stand a chance.”

“And this was what, two hundred years ago?”

He nodded, “Yeah, in 2077. It's 2287 now, in case you didn't know. I'm guessing humans were pushed to the brink of extinction. It's taken this long just to reach this point of high culture, where you can actually find the rare settlement where you won't immediately be shot on sight.” His voice was bitter.

“Speaking from experience?” I asked sympathetically.

He sighed. “Uh-huh.” We strode along for a few minutes in silence.

As we approached one corner, MacCready quickly stepped ahead of me, guiding me to take cover behind the wall of the nearest building. We crouched down in a pile of debris, backs to the brickwork. I watched as he brought his rifle up to sight through the scope, his habitual frown deepening. Turning to me, he mouthed the words almost inaudibly. “Hear that? Listen.”

I held my breath, closing my eyes to focus on catching any hint of sound above the light sighing of the wind and the rustle of leather as the sniper lifted his rifle again. Faintly, I heard primitive grunts and mutters. There were no discernible words. A clatter of debris echoed slightly between the buildings, the sounds coming from farther down the street we needed to use. “I heard it,” I breathed. “What is it?”

“Ferals” came the immediate answer. “Damn things are everywhere. Take 'em out, and more pop up. But we need to go this way.”

“So we clear the street,” I reasoned. “If this is the main route from one city to another, people could get hurt if we leave it alone.”

“'We?' You think you're up to it, Boss?” he asked, peering briefly over his shoulder at me. There was no condescension in his voice, merely a genuine concern for my welfare. “I could probably take them out on my own, if I had to.”

“No,” I insisted. “It'll be easier with two of us. Besides, these aren't really people... not anymore.” I unholstered my laser pistol for quicker aiming. Taking a bracing breath, I told him, “Let's do this,” and stepped out from around the corner of the building.

Feral Ghouls were nothing like Hancock or Daisy. They were almost exactly like zombies from a horror film, all groaning and flailing limbs and gnashing of teeth as they charged from around the shell of an old car. The only difference was they were insanely fast. Almost before I could react, a group of four ferals had made it halfway towards us. MacCready had stayed in cover, and his rifle arced smoothly, taking out the first two with precise head shots. I raised my pistol, squeezing off a round and hitting the third in the thigh. It fell, then proceeded to pull itself up the street, clawing at the broken concrete to move. Sighting on the fourth feral, I invoked my V.A.T.S. assistance, concentrating on taking a head shot. The bolt hit, burning into its cheek and boiling away an eye, but not stopping its rushing charge. The second shot melted away the rest of its head and the body fell forward to lie a few feet from me. _That was close!_ As I took a moment to dispatch the crippled feral still clawing towards me, I heard more groaning from down the street and a soft metallic _clink_ nearby.

“Duck and cover!” MacCready yelled as he tossed a grenade, _where the hell was he keeping that?_ , onto the car and the second wave of ferals just starting to appear. I dove back behind the building, flattening against the wall next to MacCready. A resounding _bang_ signaled the grenade's detonation, and I cautiously peered around the corner. The car was tilted up to one side, on fire, and no ferals remained, only blasted chunks of bloodstained viscera. _We did it!_ I exulted. Ferals were not sentient, and eliminating a clear threat didn't bother my conscience in the least. _I may be getting the hang of this._

MacCready gave me an approving nod, standing up to join me on the street and scrutinize the aftermath. I had only taken two steps towards the nearest feral when he suddenly tackled me bodily, roughly shoving us towards the shelter of the building. We nearly made it.

The car exploded in a deafening roar of irradiated fire. The shockwave of its blast tumbled us farther into the shelter of the brick wall, but I still heard MacCready cry out in pain. We huddled together in a twisted pile, waiting for the rain of debris to stop falling before untangling ourselves.

“Next lesson,” he wheezed, face pinched in agony. “Cars and grenades don't mix.” That's when I saw the spread of crimson dripping across the tumble of bricks underneath his feet. The flesh of his lower right leg was shredded, burned and bleeding darkly. “Hah,” he hissed, “got a stimpak handy?”

“Ohmygod!” I frantically tore the pack from my back, digging into the side pocket for the injectors. The contents scattered about on the ground as my hands shook. MacCready had put his head down, taking slow, painful breaths. “Here,” I shoved a dose of Med-X at him, not bothering to wait to see if he used it. Pawing at the scattered contents, I found one of the precious stimpaks. Whipping around, I stabbed the needle into his thigh muscle just above the bony knee, the drug administering itself with a quiet hiss. Within moments, the bleeding had stopped and my companion relaxed. His leg was almost visibly mending, the torn flesh sealing into a series of angry red scars. The sight unnerved me and I turned away to re-pack the contents of my bag that had been scattered in my frantic search. Once I was certain the eerie wound closure had finished, I dug out a couple strips of cloth.

MacCready had shifted to a sitting position, leg splayed out in front of him. When I proceeded to dab the worst of the blood off in preparation to dress his wound, he protested. “Leave it,” he whined, trying to twitch out of my reach. “It's fine.”

“MacCready,” I replied sternly, “the skin is barely closed. Let me at least wrap it for you so you don't break it open again. It'll help keep dirt out, too.” We exchanged a challenging glare, and he dropped his eyes first.

“Fine... Boss,” he growled, holding his leg up to accept my ministrations.

Not wanting to test his patience, I cleaned and wrapped the wounds on his calf as quickly as I dared, feeling his eyes watching me intently. When I finished, I placed his foot on the ground gently with an encouraging pat. “There. That wasn't so bad, was it?” I turned to face him, letting him decide when the leg was healed enough to stand up. He was still gazing at me, a furrowed line to his brow. “What?” I asked, a little disconcerted by his expression.

“Why did you do that?” His voice was low, wondering.

“What? Dress your leg?” He nodded, still peering at me intently. I was confused. “Why wouldn't I?” He sat there, just looking at me. “It's barely healed. Because I didn't want it getting infected?” No reply, but his forehead furrowed more deeply. “I wanted to help you?” A blink of those deep blue eyes. I threw up my hands in sudden frustration. “I don't know what you want me to say!” I complained.

“I think you said it.” His brow had smoothed, and there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but the momentary bewilderment had passed. “How's it feeling?”

MacCready gingerly flexed the wrapped leg, rotating his foot to test it. “It's been worse,” came the diagnosis. I stood up and held my hand out to him. He paused for a long moment before grabbing it, and letting me pull him to his feet. He staggered off to retrieve his rifle. Wobbly at first, after only a few steps, he steadied himself, walking over to examine the dead ferals with only a limp. Envious of his ability to shrug off an injury, I followed.

The Ghouls didn't have much in the way of loot. MacCready explained, in the educational manner I was getting very familiar with, that ferals never carried much on them. Most of the time, the items they had were useless as well. We soon departed the area a little worse for wear, moving at a decidedly slower pace.


	13. Diamond City

“Wait a minute,” I said, amazed, as we approached the area near Diamond City. “This is Fenway Park!”

“I guess so,” my companion replied, a bit sourly. “It's a snobby settlement now. They call themselves 'The Great Green Jewel'. What a crock. Although,” and he perked up a bit, “the food is better than anything you can get in Goodneighbor.” As if the mere thought of food energized him, he picked up his pace.

I followed, glancing at my map. The screen had updated the map icon MacCready had placed there, labeling it “Diamond City” and showed a sketchy diagram of the streets we had taken to reach it. _Good_ , I thought, _this map is going to be really useful._

We followed a series of signs pointing us to the entrance and right into an altercation. A young woman in a red leather jacket and news cap was yelling at the intercom. “Come on, Danny, I live here! You can't just leave me out in the open like this!” We stopped at the edge of the entrance, watching the scene in front of us.

“See?” MacCready murmured next to me. “Snooty bastards.”

The intercom crackled to life, “Sorry, Ms. Piper. Mayor McDonough was firm in his orders. It's nothing personal.”

“Oh for crying out loud!” She flailed her arms dramatically. “Is the mayor scared of the big bad reporter lady? Booooo!” Her voice had risen, sarcasm and frustration overflowing. Then she saw us and her whole demeanor changed. She beckoned to us, taking a few steps away from the intercom. “Psst, you with the Pip-Boy, you need to get in?” Her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

MacCready and I exchanged a quick glance, and I nodded. “We were told we could find Nick Valentine here.”

Piper brightened at that. “Oh, Nick! Yeah, he's here. Hold on a second.” She stepped back up to the intercom, speaking loudly and clearly. “You're a couple of folks looking to hire Nick Valentine?” She paused to let the statement rest. “You hear that, Danny Sullivan? Got some paying customers out here. You gonna turn away the caps?”

I waited hopefully, and let out a breath of relief as the intercom crackled to life again. “Geez! All right, Piper. Give me a minute.” The large barrier in front of the old ticket booth entrance raised up slowly, revealing a small number of guards stationed behind the counter on the back wall, dressed in identical... baseball uniforms? _Okay, that's different._ Each was holding a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and carried a holstered pistol. Piper had ducked inside as soon as the barrier opened high enough, leaving us to follow at a more measured pace. She was waiting just past the door. “Thanks a lot, Pip.” she said, cheerily.

“Pip?” _Where did that come from?_

“Yeah, for the Pip-Boy.” She pointed to the device on my arm. “Never seen one like that before, though. Fanncy.” The last word was drawled out. “Where'd you get it?” Her curiosity must have been professional in nature, the “Press” tag in her hat a dead giveaway.

MacCready tensed up next to me as if in warning, and I replied, dismissively, “It's a long story.” If I thought that would dissuade the young woman, I was wrong.

“Ooh,” she crooned. “I'd love to hear it, Pip! Maybe I can interview you for my paper!” She waved her hand towards the stairs. “Publick Occurances. First on the left. I have to go settle in now. Stop by my office when you get a chance.” With that, she breezed off in a swirl of bounding energy.

“Ugh, reporters,” my companion groaned. “Never trust the press. They'll print whatever they think will sell papers.” He tugged his cap down more firmly as we approached the security desk.

The officer in charge, Danny, greeted us. “Welcome to Diamond City and all that,” he said, quite informally. “What's brought you into town, anyway? Be good to note it down in the logs”

“We're looking for a Nick Valentine.” I decided to stick to as little information as necessary. Enough of my life had been revealed already, even if I could almost trust the people who knew it.

“You mean Piper was telling the truth this time?” Danny asked, incredulously. “That's refreshing.” He scribbled a note in his ledger and gestured to a set of stairs leading into the infield. “When you get inside the city, go to the back, around the market, to an alleyway. There's a couple of bright, neon signs for Valentine's Detective Agency.” Directions given, he turned back to his notes, dismissing us.

Diamond City had taken over the entire infield, small shacks lined up along the former base lines, with a central market occupying the area around the pitcher's mound. There were even dwellings built up into the stands. Impressed at the clever use of the former stadium, I stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, just taking it all in. MacCready brushed past me, making a beeline for the central market. “C'mon Boss, I'm starving!”

 _Do I smell... noodles?_ My nose did not deceive me. In the very center of the main market, standing out like a beacon of culinary delights, stood a small stand. A robot bustled behind the counter, and a sign high overhead proclaimed “Power Noodles” in bright neon letters. My mouth was already watering at the scent, and I hastily grabbed the stool next to my companion. He was already addressing the server.

“What's up, Taka? Set me up with some of your shima... uh, shimichanga... errr, whatever they're called.” The young man was practically bouncing up and down on the stool in anticipation. I watched his antics with mild amusement.

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?” The robot server inquired.

“Yeah, yeah... that's the stuff.” He was actually grinning now.

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

“You're damn right I'll take two servings.” He paused for a moment, giving me a guilty glance. “Uhh, make that three, one for the boss here.”

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?” That was addressed to me.

“Uhhh.” I had no idea what the server was saying, I didn't speak Japanese! “Help?” I pleaded.

“Just say yes,” MacCready advised helpfully. “Takahashi only says one thing.”

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

“Yes.” What did I have to lose?

Three bowls of noodles were placed in front of us, along with two bottles of Nuka-cola, an obvious analogue to soda from my own world. MacCready didn't hesitate, grabbing the provided chopsticks and hungrily slurping the meal with every appearance of complete culinary bliss. I sampled the food, then found myself eating as heartily as my companion, if a little more neatly. The noodles were amazing, beautifully cooked, with small pieces of meat and vegetable mixed in. I could actually tell the difference between them, and contented myself with that fact, conveniently ignoring the secondary fact that I wasn't sure what kind of meat it was. _Ah well, protein is protein, and this is amazing._ MacCready was already working on his second bowl as I forced myself to slow down and enjoy the miracle of good, edible food.

The Nuka-cola wasn't too bad, cola was cola, though I would have preferred water. My Pip-Boy crackled briefly as I drank, registering the radiation inherent in the liquid. I had noticed a small red line starting to appear on my STAT screen, in the long bar to the bottom left. I guessed it acted like an accumulation meter, in tandem with the external dial on the right side, warning me of when I was getting dangerously irradiated. _Good to know, but it's so tiring that almost everything has rads. Guess the Rad-Away will come in handy at some point._

As soon as we had finished our meal, we passed by the rest of the shops, giving them a cursory glance, heading to the back alley in Danny's directions, and Nick Valentine.


	14. Valentine

The neon sign was shaped like a heart. “Cute,” I commented, “Valentine's Detective Agency.”

Upon entering, a young woman, obviously a secretary, sat typing behind a hefty desk scattered with files and papers of all descriptions. She looked up at our entrance and told us, “Just a moment, please.” Motioning for us to take a seat, she called behind her. “Nick? You've got some clients!”

“Thanks, Ellie, I'll be right out.”

MacCready took up a standing position directly behind me, acting the part of bodyguard quite convincingly. I had just sat down when Nick Valentine appeared from the back of the room. It was a good thing I was sitting down. He was... well, an android was the only thing I could think of, but one in very rough shape. He was tall, wearing a traditional detective's trench coat and hat, but any other resemblance to a 1950's film noir star ended there. Bright yellow irises glowed electronically at us from black eyes in a pale gray face. The skin covering that face was scarred and torn, large sections missing from the sides and neck area, metal frame and wiring visible underneath. His right hand as he pulled a chair back to sit opposite me was bare metal. Yet his expression was kind, smiling encouragingly at me. “Never seen a Synth before, kid?” he asked gruffly.

I shook my head, closing my mouth which had dropped open in surprise. “You're a detective, all right.” I tried to make it a joke, but could almost sense the mental face-palm of my companion.

“Ha, good one,” croaked Valentine. _Geez, he even sounds like a film noir detective._ “Don't worry, kid. Not many Synths in Diamond City. In fact,” he added, “I'm the only one.”

“Um,” I began tentatively, not wanting to offend my only chance of help, but I was overwhelmingly curious. “How is a Synth different from a robot? I mean, other than the fact you look human...” I vaguely remembered Hancock and Fahrenheit having a disagreement on whether or not I was a Synth, but was too frightened at the time to give it much thought. Fahrenheit's flamethrower was a much more important thing for me to have focused on at the time.

“Hmmm,” Nick stroked his gray flesh-covered left hand across his chin thoughtfully. “A Synth is about as far removed from a robot as a rocket ship is from the wheel.” He gestured to his form. “I'm an older prototype generation-two model, mind you, made of metal and wires. The generation-three Synths are indistinguishable from humans. They have flesh and blood just like you.” He paused, looking up past me at MacCready. “But you're not here for a lesson, I take it. What brings you to me today?”

“Irma from Goodneighbor suggested you may be able to help me.” I said.

“Irma, huh? I'm flattered she thinks so highly of me. She's a good woman.” Nick smiled then, “How can ol' Nick help you out?”

“In a nutshell, I'm lost and I want to go home.” Before he could say anything, I held up my hand. “I'm not from this... world. I was transported here, brought here somehow, and we need to find someone who can figure out how, and get me back. We're pretty sure my Pip-Boy has something to do with it.” My voice dropped at every sentence. It sounded so outlandish, so unbelievable.

“I don't know, kid” came the honest reply. “I'm more of a 'missing persons' operation, but maybe I can point you in the right direction. Mind if I look at that Pip-Boy of yours?”

 _And again._ I unlatched the device from my arm, handing it over to the detective. He took it, but also lightly grabbed hold of my hand. “Wait a minute there. This is part of it, too?” Fascinated, he scrutinized the wires as closely as MacCready had, going so far as to prod delicately at the line of pin receivers. “Interesting. It clips right in, does it?” At my nod, he let go of my hand to go over the Pip-Boy, his metal fingers tapping incredibly fast across the touch screen. I watched him as he examined every inch of the device, even reaching inside to test the pins. After a few long minutes, Nick refocused his attention on me.

“So, looks like you have a very unique situation here.” he drawled. “What you have is undeniably a Pip-Boy, but I can tell you that it wasn't made by Vault-Tec.”

I was confused, but the announcement apparently made sense to MacCready. “It wasn't?” he inquired. “I thought Vault-Tec had the lock on that technology.”

“So did I,” answered Nick. “I can tell you without a doubt this isn't Vault-Tec. Oh, it looks the part, all right. But I've seen my share of Pip-Boys and they are not as extensively programmed as this one is. Or even made from the same materials.” He poked at the pins inside the arm band again. “None of them, and I mean none, connect directly to the wearer. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd almost say this is Institute-level sophistication. But I'm not 100% sure.” He handed it back to me and I replaced the device with the familiar pulse of electricity. “I do think you're on the right track that it had something to do with your appearance here.

“As far as finding someone who can figure out how it happened...” he broke off suddenly, turning to flip through some of the files scattered across the desk. “You're looking for someone with the knowledge and resources to be able to crack an unknown high-tech device. That points to a scientist, or at least someone with an interest in that direction.” He re-stacked the files, giving them a couple of taps on the desk to straighten them. “Tell ya what. Come back tomorrow and I'll see if I can dig up some information on where to find some science-y types. Sound good?”

“That's fine, Nick,” I answered. What other choice did we have at this point? “Thank you very much for your help. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing right now, but if we can find what you're looking for, then we can discuss payment.” He stood up and escorted us back to the alley before turning around to return to his office.

“Well,” sighed MacCready, “guess we're stuck here tonight. At least we learned one thing we didn't know before.” We took a seat on a wooden bench at the corner of the marketplace.

“Yes.” _We? I like the sound of that._ I ran my fingers along the Pip-Boy, tracing the silver piping wonderingly. “This is the second time someone's mentioned the Institute. Hancock said something about them, too. Who are they?”

MacCready leaned back against the bench, crossing one leg over his knee. “No one really knows. They're the bogeymen of the Commonwealth.” He shrugged nonchalantly, “Lots of rumors about them kidnapping people and replacing them with Synths. And like Nick said, the Gen 3 Synths are undetectable... only an autopsy can prove if someone is human or Synth.”

“Really?” It sounded as farfetched as the technology that supposedly brought me here, but then again, who was I to judge? “Why kidnap people, just to replace them with Synth copies?”

“I don't know.” He frowned, “I don't hold with breaking up families, though. That alone makes me believe the Institute, whoever they are, and not the good guys. Family is sacred.”

“The _good_ guys?” My voice cracked a little. “Who _are_ the 'good guys' exactly?”

A bitter chuckle answered me. “Hell if I know, or care. I'm just here for the caps.” He met my incredulous stare with a closed expression. “Hey, I shoot people for a living, I'm not the expert on morality. Go ask someone else.”

“Hmph.” I wasn't going to let that answer be, but now was not the time. I tucked away the contradiction of 'family love versus hired gun' away for later.

“Hopefully Nick will have some more information for us tomorrow,” I said instead. “For tonight,” and I started walking back into the market center, “any idea where we can stay?”

“I know just the place,” he replied.


	15. The Dugout Inn

“Did you say 'showers'?” I was incredulous. Considering the condition of, well, everything up to this point, I had resigned myself to being dirty. “Say it again?” I pleaded.

“They have showers.” MacCready repeated with the hint of a smile.

“ _Hot_ showers?” I pressed.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “I hate getting wet, so I never used them.”

“MacCreadyyy...” _Damn the man, a hot shower would ease a lot of problems right now, or at least make me feel more human._

“Yeah, Boss?” This time there was a gleam of mischief lurking in those angelic blue eyes of his.

“You cannot tell me you've never taken a shower? A bath?”

“Does crossing rivers count?”

“Ew, no!” I pretended to be overwhelmed by the sudden realization of his body odor. “You are nasty!”

“Hey, I have a washcloth, and a spare shirt!” he protested, laughing. _Wait, he has spare clothing?_

“Soap?” A grumble met that question. “Uh-huh.” I stopped at the very next stall. The woman standing there was less than welcoming for some reason, but with MacCready playing 'tough mercenary' behind me I soon walked away with my own set of spare clothes, a couple of towels, and two small packs of toiletries. They wouldn't take up much room in my bag, and would be a welcome change from wearing the same outfit day in and day out until I got home. I firmly handed one of the toiletry packs to MacCready, who took it with a grimace.

“So, I'm guessing this 'Dugout Inn' is in the Dugout?” I hazarded, heading in the general direction of where the teams used to play. Indeed, a hand painted sign posted outside the line of stadium seats pointed us inside. Before entering the inn proper, I noticed a large poster hanging on the wall describing jobs that needed to be done. Without hesitation, I grabbed the flyer to look at later. If I was going to be able to afford help getting home, I needed to work.

As soon as we walked into the main room, MacCready affably called out to the bartender, “Hey, Vadim! How's it going?” I blinked, but tamped down my surprise. _He lives in the Commonwealth, why wouldn't he know people? This is part of the reason he was hired, after all._ The sniper turned to me, pressing some bottlecaps in my hand. “Go get a room from Yefim over there. I'm going to have a chat with Vadim. Take your time.” He handed me his pack, as well. “Would you mind? Thanks, Boss!”

“MacCready!” called Vadim in a heavy Eastern European accent. “Good to see you, my friend!”

The rest of the conversation was lost as I hurried over to Yefim. Ten caps was a pittance for the luxury of a shower and a bed. I strode into room #2, dropping everything on the floor and digging hastily through both packs. Armed with soap and a load of dirty clothes, I practically dove into the old claw-foot tub, only bothering to remove my leather jacket and combat boots. Those would require a different technique.

The water was blessedly, perfectly hot. Using an old Army trick, I showered with clothes on, shucking them as they got good and soapy. Once done, I made sure to go over the small bundle of MacCready's dirty clothes as well, _doesn't take much longer and he might appreciate it_. Finally, I tackled the days of sweat and grime on my own body, draping the clean clothing along the tub's edge to rinse. The small bathroom was completely steamed up by the time I finally felt clean enough to towel off. Every available surface had a piece of clothing spread out to dry, but I figured we'd be okay by morning.

Dressed in the new-to-me spare clothes, I exited the bathroom to find MacCready still missing. Giving my hair one last vigorous toweling, I finger-combed the long curly brown strands into some semblance of order before braiding it back into a rough tail, my preferred style. Straightening up the room by the simple method of moving the packs to lean against the wall, I grabbed my pistol holster and headed out to the bar.

The man named Vadim waved as I approached. “Ah, pretty lady!” he called. _Obviously trying to flatter me for a better price_ , I thought, but smiled at him anyway. “What'll it be?”

Spying my companion at the end of the bar with a glass of his own, I replied, “If you don't have purified water, I'll take a beer,” and took a seat next to him. MacCready didn't even look up; his whole demeanor had changed from when we walked in. He looked... depressed. Not angry, not complaining, but actual sadness in the set of his shoulders and the fixed stare into his drink. I shot Vadim an inquiring look and he shrugged exaggeratedly with a grimace, tilting his hand back and forth in a confusing manner. _Hmm, okay. Maybe the chat didn't go so well._ Honoring the sniper's change of mood, I simply sat next to him, sipping on the beer that shortly appeared in front of me and idly watching the patrons through the mirror behind the bar.

We spent the evening this way; MacCready drinking somberly, with none of his usual energy, and I just offering my quiet company. Once, I caught the flash of his troubled blue eyes as he glanced at me, and I gave him what I hoped was an empathetic smile. He raised his eyebrows momentarily, furrowing his brows, then went back to his drink, offering no comment. _Whatever's bothering him, he doesn't want to talk about it. I can respect that._ I didn't mind sitting quietly, people watching. I was used to being alone, and having so much close contact with people in the last few days was wearing in a different manner than the trek across ruined Boston.

I nursed my beer, not wanting to let my senses get dulled by alcohol. MacCready, however, was making serious inroads on whatever drinks Vadim was giving him. I could practically smell the fumes coming from his glass, it was so strong. He must have had an amazing tolerance for the stuff, but eventually it finally caught up to his mood. One moment he was tracing random patterns in the spilled liquid on the bar, the next his head slumped alarmingly.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Vadim, hurrying over to help me catch the suddenly boneless sniper. “Okay, MacCready, you're cut off.” He peered into the drooping face, “too late, am I right?”

“I hope you didn't kill him with that stuff,” I warned, concern warring with irritation. I hooked an arm over my shoulder, Vadim taking the other side as we headed back to the rooms. Even as a dead weight, the young man was surprisingly light. _Poor guy's just skin and bones under that duster._

“No, no! MacCready is a strong fighter. It takes more than Bobrov's Best moonshine to kill him,” Vadim assured me heartily as we burst into the room. I half-dragged us towards the bed, wanting to get MacCready settled and Vadim out of the room as soon as possible. Vadim stepped in at that point, picking up the smaller man and gently setting him on the mattress. MacCready didn't even move.

“What do I owe you?” I asked, walking him to the door.

“Ah-ah, nothing tonight. It was my big mouth that caused the tab, so that's on me.” He waggled a finger at me, “but only tonight, yes?”

“Sure.” _Aha, I was right._ “Thanks, Vadim. I'll take it from here,” and I shut the door.

“Of course he put you on your back,” I muttered, returning to the side of the bed. A few moments and some creative limb arranging later, I had the unconscious mercenary on his side. I couldn't do much about the twisted leather duster, but removed his hat and boots. Tugging on the blankets, I was able to free up enough fabric to at least pretend to cover him. Finally, I grabbed a can of purified water from our supplies and placed it on the end table within easy reach. Stepping back to survey my handiwork, I again noticed how different he looked at rest; without his habitual scowl, he appeared almost vulnerable.

 _I wonder what happened? Not that it's any of my business, but it seems like there's more emotional depth to him than he lets on. He's so guarded all the time._ That's when I realized I was spending way too long just watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the slight twitching of his long calloused fingers. Annoyed with myself, I dug out my dry spare towel, grabbed a free pillow and, with one last guilty glance at the sleeping form on the bed, I curled up on the couch.


	16. The Long Road Ahead

“I thought Nick said to go north,” MacCready argued. It was the first thing he'd said all day and, of course it was a complaint. We were heading out from Diamond City early the next afternoon, armed with a tidbit of scrounged information about a group called the Minutemen. My Pip-Boy's DATA screen came in handy to record the information Nick had, scant as it was. They were known to have helped people in the past, had a reasonable likelihood of containing one or more members familiar with technology, and unfortunately were apparently running for their lives after a devastating attack on their headquarters in Quincy. MacCready had woken up with a vicious hangover and had been silently brooding until now.

“Ye-es,” I drew the word out. “He also said they may have headed west, which is where this flyer is directing us.” I handed him the wanted poster from the night before. “We can kill two birds with one stone- clear out the old subway tunnels and maybe pick up traces of the Minutemen.”

Squinting from his headache, he perused the post. “Hmm, no reward but we keep what we find? Raiders?” He stopped suddenly, peering more closely at the sketchy map drawn on the paper. “Uh, Boss, got a minute to talk?”

I looked at him. He actually looked legitimately concerned about something. “Sure thing. What's on your mind?”

“First off, I want to thank you for...” and he tugged on his cap, pulling the brim down in a futile effort to conceal the hint of color blushing his cheeks. “Look, I don't make it a habit to drink myself insensible. Thanks for, well, for just being there.”

I smiled. “No worries. You looked like you just needed time to work through... whatever it was.” Before he could respond, I added, “Besides, I never got a chance to thank you for saving my life from that car explosion.”

“Boss,” he said sternly, rolling his eyes a little, “that's what I'm paid to do, keep you alive. You don't need to thank me for it.”

I huffed at him. “I'm going to anyway. Get used to it. Now, you were saying?”

MacCready glanced down the road nervously. “I don't usually go around sharing stuff like this, but you've been pretty straight with me, so I'm going to be straight with you. I'm a freelancer now, but I didn't used to be. Used to run with a big mercenary company called the Gunners. They're barely one step above raiders, ruthless and violent, taking contracts for any reason as long as there's bloodshed involved. They mow down anyone, and I mean anyone, who gets in their way. I couldn't take that kind of life, so I cut ties with them pretty quick.”

I nodded. “Having a conscience isn't a bad thing. What does this have to do with going west?”

He tapped the flyer. “It's the area. The raiders in the tunnel are probably not part of their gang, but we'd be heading straight into the range of a couple of Gunner squad leaders named Winlock and Barnes. That's the group I used to run with, and those two have been hounding me for months, warning me to stay out of their territory.” He let out a bitter bark of laughter. “In fact, about the only reason I was available for Hancock to hire me is because those assho-- ugh, those idiots have been driving away my clients. No one wants to hire former Gunner. I've been trying to earn enough caps to buy them out, get them off my back.”

“How many caps do you think you'll need?” I asked. _Bullies are the same everywhere, I guess,_ “though I doubt paying them off would work.”

“I'm with you there.” A sigh. “I don't know. Problem is, even if I paid them off with every cap I owned, they'd probably still put a bullet in my head anyway as an example.” He started pacing nervously.

“You're a sniper. Couldn't you just take them out?” I suggested. _Kill or be killed_ , I thought resignedly, _though this is my bodyguard we're talking about here. I kind of like having him around._

“If it were that easy, I would have done it already!” His voice was angrily intense. “No, there's too many of them for me to take on alone. Those two always have a small army around them.” He paused, thinking. “Unless... maybe you and I could pay them a visit and finish them off before they realized what was happening.”

All I could do was stare at him in disbelief.

“And before you get that look on your face, know that I wouldn't even be asking if I didn't think we could pull this off. I get the funny feeling that I might actually be able to trust you, you know.”

 _Well, when you put it_ that _way._ “I'm not sure what I can do, but if you need my help, count me in. Change of plans; let's go take care of these guys.”

The grateful smile that lit up his face made it all worth it. “Thanks, Boss. It's nice to know that you care.”

-0-

 _What was I thinking?_ I scolded myself as I inched forward to get a better look at the small encampment by the base of the old raised highway. A small platform attached by long cables allowed access to the main base on top of the ruined highway high overhead. There were only a few Gunners on duty, but every one of them we could eliminate now was one less to deal with later.

 _I know what I was thinking, “Poor guy has no one he can count on, why not help him out?” and now I'm going to try and lure these guys out one at a time to be picked off. Brilliant._ It probably wasn't the best plan, but it would make excellent use of MacCready's long-distance sniping skills. He had taken up a sniper's position overlooking both the camp on the ground by the interchange support beams, and a decent section of the actual Gunner base high overhead. I was to draw out the occupants one or two at a time, allowing for him to pick them off without them realizing where the shots were coming from. I had my own rifle locked and loaded, just in case, and my laser pistol strapped to my leg. _Here goes._

Hefting a large rock, I tossed it as hard as I could in the direction of a nearby pile of scrap metal. As soon as it left my hand, I moved quietly towards a second location where I could lure the Gunners out into the open. A loud clang attracted the attention of the guards and, sure enough, two of them moved out to investigate. As soon as they cleared visible distance from the post, I faintly heard the wet crack of their heads being sniped with expert aim. Both Gunners fell without a sound. _Damn, he's impressive with that scope._

The ruse worked two more times before the last remaining Gunner at the guard post got nervous enough to call for backup. _Time to move._

MacCready told me there were two platforms leading up to the main base. The second one was concealed and usually only lightly guarded, but having been stationed here he knew where it was. We met up just outside the platform, MacCready having sniped the lone guard on his way over to meet up. As a full squad of Gunners took the main platform down, we snuck into the secondary one, taking it up simultaneously. If we could move quickly enough once reaching the top, we could take out the remainder of the squad, Winlock, and Barnes before the Gunners below realized what had happened. After that, it was a simple act for MacCready to toss a grenade onto the platform as they rode back up, and snipe any stragglers below.

That was the plan, anyway.

As soon as we came into view of the concrete overpass, we realized our mistake. Yes, MacCready knew about the second lift, but so did everyone else stationed here. A semicircle of eight armed Gunners pointed the muzzles of their weapons directly at us. Behind them stood two men, one of whom was shaking his head. “C'mon, MacCready, you knew the deal. You were supposed to stay out of Gunner territory. And here you are, giving sightseeing tours.” He gave me a nasty grin that froze the breath in my chest, “Or did you bring us a peace offering? She's almost pretty enough to be used.” The line of Gunners guffawed at that jab. MacCready ground his teeth in response. I was frozen in fear, hands clenching my rifle.

“No answer? Figures.” He snickered obnoxiously again. “Now, we're going to want those weapons as soon as you're dead, so why don't you place them down nice and gentle at your feet?”

I glanced at MacCready. His face was set in angry lines, but he very slowly crouched down, setting his sniper rifle on the metal platform by his feet. I followed his lead, less gracefully, losing my balance as I crouched to reach forward and set my rifle on the edge of the overpass. To the sneering laughter of the squad, I staggered to one side, landing on hands and knees. My breath was coming in short panicked pants. _We're going to die, we're going to die._ MacCready stooped down to help me back to my feet and, in doing so, he pressed a sphere of cold metal into my hand.

 _No fucking way..._ Hope blossomed fiercely.

As we stood up to face our executioners, hands behind our backs at parade rest, the speaker apparently decided to finish his game. Signaling to the squad, he addressed us one more time, “Any last words, MacCready?”

“Yeah, Winlock.” he answered, suddenly relaxed and confident. “NOW!”

We tossed the frag grenades into the group of surprised Gunners, ducking to either side of the platform and using the upright steel safety panels to shield as much as possible. Even though I had clapped my ears to my head, the blast and resulting screams were deafening. MacCready had grabbed his sniper rifle when he moved, but my rifle had been blown away in the resulting blast. _Damn it._ Unholstering my laser pistol, we peered around the cover of the platform panels to finish the job.

The squad of Gunners were down, most of them unidentifiable pieces of limbs and torsos. I ruthlessly suppressed my gag reflex- _they were going to execute us!_ – and scanned the area looking for movement. MacCready had already stalked over to where Winlock had been, and was silently aiming his rifle down at a wheezing, barely moving form. His face was set, blue eyes cold and distant as he squeezed the trigger. The merciful _crack_ reverberated with a set finality. He repeated the action a few more times, deftly dispatching any survivors- Wasteland mercy. Pausing to reload, he met my eyes with an expression of relief, which suddenly turned to alarm.

_Crack!_

A searing pain speared my side, and I fell, twisting to try and escape the agony. A second round caught me in the arm as I dropped. MacCready shouted and rushed over to crouch next to me, pulling his rifle against his shoulder and firing with deadly accuracy. I writhed, desperately trying to stave off the pain. The backup squad had returned and were now charging our position, firing relentlessly. My companion was shooting as fast as he could sight on a target, but there were too many of them, coming too fast. My right arm was pretty much useless, the pain preventing me from lifting my pistol. But if I just reached out...

I grabbed desperately at MacCready's belt with my left hand, detaching the last frag grenade. Wheezing with the torment of effort, I bashed off the butterfly clip and pulled the pin with my teeth. The remaining Gunners were closing in fast. With a desperate heave that had me seeing stars, I tossed the grenade towards the approaching men, hoping it was far enough. MacCready reacted by pulling me into him, tumbling us to one side behind a line of sandbags piled next to the lift. The _bang_ of the grenade heralded a blast of shrapnel and a chorus of dying screams, the impact jostling my already wounded side, and I passed out from the overwhelming pain.


	17. Affinity

I regained consciousness with a tortured gasp only a few minutes later, the soft soothing murmur of my companion close by my ear. “Dammit. Hold on, Boss. I got ya. Stay still. Don't move. Damn. I've got ya.” The encouraging words continued in a round of variations, a constant rumble of concern. That's when I realized I was lying on my good left side, my back propped against the kneeling legs of my bodyguard, warmly supporting my body. He had my right arm held up and over my head, exposing the painful wound on my side. Blood trickled down my arm, soaking the fabric by my shoulder. “I got one already, but this one is really going to hurt.” Setting my arm down, he soothed, “Stay still, gotta get this out.”

A moment later, the slice of his combat knife forced a tortured scream from my lips as he ruthlessly dug in between my ribs, giving a twisting flick to dislodge the bullet wedged there. “I've got ya. Hold on, almost done.” I focused on the sound of his voice, panting shallowly. “Don't move. I've got ya, Boss.” A second later, I felt the almost laughable pinch of additional pain from the stimpak MacCready administered to my mangled side. With the hiss of injection, a cool spread of nearly instant numbness blanketed the fiery torment of my ribs and arm. I shuddered in relief, feeling the healing drug work its scientific magic on my body.

MacCready pulled my bloodstained shirt back down to cover the swiftly healing wound and helped me get my arm back into the warm leather jacket. Drained and wheezing from the effort, I just sprawled there, half-supported against his legs. “Better?” he asked, then added quickly, “No, don't answer. I know that's the first stimpak you've ever gotten. They're miraculous, but take a toll. Give it a minute to work, I'm not going anywhere.” He patted my shoulder. “Here, let me give you a Med-X. That will help with the pain.”

Another pinch of an injection. Soon, my panting breaths deepened into normalcy as the pain subsided. “Th- Thank you.” I stammered out. “You saved my life, again. This is becoming a habit.”

“Are you kidding me?” was the incredulous, almost angry, reply. “Why are you thanking me? It's my _responsibility_ to keep you alive! Not,” he muttered bitterly, “like I'm doing such a good job of it right now.” I could feel his sigh of self-recrimination against my back.

“I'm alive, aren't I?” I stated firmly. “Then you're doing your job. Are they gone?”

“Yeah, they were stupid enough to come back up with everyone. That grenade finished them off.” His voice grew angry again. “But if I hadn't dragged you here, this wouldn't have happened! There were too many of them for just the two of us to take on. And my 'brilliant' plan was useless. It's always my stupid decisions; I get people killed...” he broke off suddenly and tensed up.

 _Aha._ With the pain taken care of, and the stimpak mending my side, I was able to think a little more clearly. _I think this might be important._ “MacCready,” I began, pivoting slightly to look at him, but staying supported against his legs, “you didn't drag me here. If you remember, the decision was mine. You asked me, and I agreed.”

“Why?” the question was asked in a heartbreakingly dejected tone. “I don't get it. You've got your own problems. Why saddle yourself with mine?” His eyes were shaded by the brim of his cap, but the naked expression briefly peeking through made him look terribly young and unsure of himself. It was the look of a man who just couldn't believe in kindness, in humanity, and it stabbed into my heart.

“Maybe because I want to pay forward the kindness shown to me by some complete strangers in an unfamiliar city?” He snorted scornfully, the acerbity returning to his face. “Okay, or maybe because my bodyguard has gone above and beyond trying to teach me how to survive, and I wanted to find a way to help him in return?”

“I'm telling ya, Boss-”

“I know, I know,” I interrupted him, “you were paid to watch my back.” Sharp, unpleasant memories resurfaced, and my voice grew harsh. “So. _Fucking._ What?” His eyes widened in surprise. “I've worked with people who would certainly follow the letter of the contract, but no more... who would willingly 'watch my back' as it filled up with bullets.” I was working into my tirade now, feeling a bit brash from the stimpak's healing rush. “Some so-called professionals would have moved just a hair too slow reloading, or left me behind when I couldn't get out of the way, despite the pithy platitudes.” I pinned him with an angry stare of my own. “And yes, I _have_ been left behind, left for dead, used as a guinea pig for chemical testing. Fortunately, they were simulated exercises and no one was actually killed, but the harsh lesson was there for me to learn.”

Unbidden, I felt the sting of bitter tears in my eyes and turned my head away from his piercing eyes, angry heat blossoming in my cheeks. “So when I meet someone with the goddamn strength of character to actually live up to his word, and do his absolute damnedest to help me, paid or not, I'm going to _thank_ him for it, and do everything in my own meager power to show him how much I appreciate it.” I sniffled, and felt a tear run down my cheek. Forcing a half-smile, I added, lightly, “Even if he complains a lot and won't take a damn shower. So let me help you if I can, okay?”

There was a long, long moment of silence, and I was sure I had offended him. I had just started to try and sit up when-

“I- I don't know what to say.” His hand tightened on my shoulder, and I turned to look back at him. He was gazing down at me with a speculative look I had never seen before. “Truth is, I haven't been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone I've met has betrayed my trust in one way or another, usually involving violence. Maybe someday I'll learn that you're different... if you're willing to be patient with me?” The last few words were almost wistful.

“As patient as you've been with me the last few days? I'd be happy to.” I smiled at him, and he responded with one of his own, a genuine smile that lit up his deep blue eyes and had me catching my breath. _Okay, he's really handsome when he smiles._ “You certainly deserve it.”

“Thanks, Boss,” he responded flippantly, the brief moment of connection fading away as his sardonic emotional shield resurfaced with a vengeance. “Now, do you think you can stand up? I can't feel my legs anymore.”

We spent the night on top of the overpass. Cutting the power to the lifts effectively secured our safety, giving us time to scour the outpost for valuables and recover from our battle. Unbeknownst to me at first, MacCready had suffered from the final charge as well, taking a bullet in the shoulder as he had gotten us to cover. He had taken care of himself as ruthlessly and efficiently as he had my wounds, digging out the round and stabbing a stimpak in his arm before dealing with me. It was a bit of a shock to realize what kind of life this man had led; a life where knowing how to remove bullets with a combat knife was essential. The dichotomy between our lives had me deep in thought the rest of the afternoon as we sorted through the pile of potential loot. The occasional comments were tossed back and forth between us, a more companionable exchange bordering on friendly banter.

“I thought you said you couldn't throw a grenade,” from MacCready as he stripped the armor from a Gunner, heaving the remains off the overpass afterwards.

“I can't. At least, not far enough to have passed training. You _did_ notice we were almost killed from the shrapnel both times?” I was busy trying to resurrect whatever food had been cooking over the small fire the Gunners had set up. It didn't look good.

“Bad throw, fast reflexes- same result,” was the philosophical reply.

“Hmph.”

And later, when we had stopped to eat-

“I do envy your sniping ability,” I remarked wistfully across the fire to him. “You were able to pick off those guards without them even realizing where you were.” The food was no better than what we had in Goodneighbor, but at least the fire was warmly cozy, soothing the remaining bruises and aches the stimpaks didn't quite heal completely.

“Impressed? I'm completely self-taught you know.” He took a swig of beer. “Picked up a sniper rifle at ten and never looked back. Figured it was better to hit my targets at long range.”

“Ten? Kinda young to be handling firearms, isn't it?” I commented carefully. “Did your parents ever find out?”

“Never knew my parents,” he responded briskly. “Grew up in the Capital Wasteland, that's Washington D.C. to you, in a cave with a bunch of other kids. Called the settlement 'Little Lamplight'. I was even the mayor for a while, if you can believe it,” he chuckled. “When I turned sixteen I left, like all the others who aged up. Lamplight was for kids only, you know? We couldn't trust adults; a lesson that's been reinforced ever since.” He picked at his food idly.

“Wow. I'm sorry.”

“Why?” He shrugged dismissively. “It's the way the world works. You just learn to roll with the punches.”

“Or away from badly thrown grenades,” I commented dryly, provoking a laugh and a grin.

“That _was_ kinda close,” he snickered. “Right, no more grenades for you!”

“Deal.”

After a good night's rest in a couple of cots we found in a shipping container, we stuffed our packs practically to bursting with valuable items to sell or trade. My attire had been enhanced with a set of body armor, scrounged from the best of the dead Gunners' pieces. I was also sporting a new weapon, a combat shotgun to replace my missing rifle. Since MacCready preferred to work at long range, we decided to keep him unarmored and mobile. But I wasn't as agile, or as skilled with a weapon, so armoring me and giving me a short-range but powerful weapon seemed to be the best solution. I practiced for a good part of the day, learning to move in the armor and getting used to the heft and range of the shotgun, with MacCready easily slipping into the role of instructor again. Once satisfied I could handle myself with a modicum of skill, we started heading back to Diamond City.

On the way back, we detoured to check out the tunnels mentioned in the flyer, but the raiders there had been taken care of by unknown assailants. MacCready had taken one look at the shreds of flesh scattered about and hastily ushered us out of the area as fast as we could move. He refused to elaborate, and his pale face and thin-lipped frown convinced me it was better not to ask. We stumbled through the entrance of Diamond City near midnight, exhausted from our prolonged forced march. Yefim at the Dugout Inn merely handed us a key without a word, waving us to room #2 again. I barely remembered us collapsing onto our respective sleeping spaces.


	18. Land Navigation

Ellie found us the next morning as we were haggling over prices from our haul with one of the shopkeepers. “Nick heard you two were back in town. He sent me with an update.” She handed me an orange and white data tape identical to the one holding my memories. As soon as I took it, she gave us a cheery wave and walked away. I stepped away from the shopfront, trusting MacCready to get the best prices for our loot, and inserted the tape into my Pip-Boy. The speaker crackled to life.

“This is Nick Valentine. Got some more reliable info about those people you were looking for. Heard they were headed north towards Concord, but they weren't exactly setting the pace themselves if you get my drift. This tape should mark the location on your map. I suggest you and that scowling bodyguard of yours get up there post-haste if you want to catch them alive. Nick, out.”

Sure enough, when I clicked to the MAP screen, there was the outline of a city icon off to the northwest. MacCready poked his head over my shoulder as I was trying to figure out the distance. “What's that?” he asked curiously, handing me a reasonably hefty bag of caps and additional shotgun magazines, my cut of the profit.

“Nick has an update for us, but we have to move fast if we're going to make it in time. You ready to go?”

“I'm always up for a fight. Let's get this show on the road!” The easy confidence in his voice and cocky grin on his face called up an answering smile on mine.

As we moved north towards Concord, occasional glances at my Pip-Boy showed my map slowly filling up with bare outlines, landmarks and roads, places we might want to return to later. We needed to get to Concord as quickly as possible, but it seemed almost as far away as when we started a few hours ago. We had left the road to follow a more direct route utilizing an old railroad track. I was trying my best, but it had been a long time since I had done any sort of long-distance foot travel. The unfamiliar armor and soreness from the previous night's forced march added to my struggle. _At least my ribs don't hurt,_ I thought, trying to focus on the positive.

MacCready strode along with an easy swing to his legs, his lean form appearing to glide over the broken railroad track we were following. I knew I probably looked like a beached seal, humping along determinedly, huffing and puffing. Every once in a while I noticed him glancing back, a curious look in his eyes. And every time I caught him peering at me, I put my head down in embarrassed determination and forced myself to pick up the pace. Every step I took was a step closer to getting to Concord, to help people who may be able to help me get back home.

After about the fifth time this happened, MacCready stopped entirely and let me catch up. I staggered past him, knowing if I stopped, I wasn't going to get started again. He walked next to me for a few minutes before commenting, “We're not going to get there today, you know.”

“We're not?” I panted.

He shook his head. “Nu-uh, especially not at this rate.”

Stung by his words, I attempted to stride along in an approximation of his lanky gait. That lasted for about six paces before my legs screamed at me to stop. Refusing to listen, I dug deep into my willpower to keep going, one step in front of the other. _Every step forward is one step closer_ , I repeated to myself. _Just don't stop._ Realizing MacCready was still watching my labored progress with a mildly amused smirk, I snapped at him, “I'm trying!”

“Yes, you are,” he teased lightly, the double entendre obvious. “Bet you miss your car right now.”

“You have no idea,” I groaned. “How do you get from one place to another with any kind of speed?”

“We don't, usually. Between walking everywhere and the inevitable fighting along the way...” he mused for a moment, “though, I have seen how fast pack brahmin can move. Maybe we can get one from a trader for you to ride,” he laughed.

“Those are the two-headed cow things, right?” At his nod, I quashed the idea flatly. “No, thank you. I'd rather walk. I'll get faster, eventually.”

“It's the 'eventually' part that has me worried, Boss.” We came to a stop at the edge of a drop-off, a wide river meandering across the landscape, glittering in the late afternoon sun. The track we were following continued across, spanning the water in a straight line towards the bank on the other side. “Tell ya what, Boss,” he speculated, “once we get across this bridge, we can start looking for a decent place to take a rest.”

“We should keep going, Mac. Time is of the essence.” I panted, eyeing the bridge dubiously. Was it intact enough to cross?

“Mac?” he echoed, frowning. “We're not in _that_ much of a hurry, Boss, geez. I don't like traveling at night; can't see targets clearly.” He grumbled, almost having to force himself to sound angry. “Besides, what good are you going to do for these people if you pass out from exhaustion the second we roll into Concord?”

“Hm, good point.” Stepping gingerly, I started to pick my way across the railroad bridge. “Fine, you win. We'll find somewhere to hole up once we get across.”

After reaching the other side, it took another hour to find suitable shelter. I trudged along the railroad tracks while MacCready ranged the area in a large circle. We finally set up a small refuge inside a derailed train car, the tumbled crates inside providing some protection from being detected, and a small amount of defense from the cold wind that had started to pick up. Due to the enclosed nature of the car, a fire was out of the question, so we built a small nest in one corner from spare clothing and anything soft we could scrounge from the crates and surrounding area. It wasn't pretty, but it would probably be okay for one night.

“Did you have to camp out often in the Army?” MacCready asked as we sat on a couple of crates munching our way through some packaged pre-war food for our evening meal.

“Camp out?” I chuckled ruefully, “I wouldn't call it that, but aside from Basic Training and annual field exercises, no, not really. My unit usually had full tents and even propane heaters if we had to go out in winter. Though,” I recalled suddenly, “we did have one time, thankfully in early summer, where we had a higher ranking officer who kept taking our equipment from us for some reason- tents, cots, sleeping bags- the works. I wasn't high enough rank to know why.” A fond chuckle escaped my lips and I noticed MacCready listening with every appearance of interest. “It got to the point were most of us just curled up on the ground to sleep. I had to use my helmet as a pillow. It was not comfortable. At all. We were all so glad when that exercise was over, I'll tell you.”

“Sleeping on the ground, huh? Sounds like torture,” he teased.

“Compared to when we went on performance tours and stayed in hotels every night, very much so! But,” I changed the subject, “enough about me. Why are you here in Boston if you grew up in D.C.?”

He shrugged, “not much to tell, honestly.”

“Try me. I really don't know much about you, and you have quite a bit on me.” He may not have brought up my stolen memories, but the reminder was there.

“All right, then.” He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling in reminiscence. “Once I left Little Lamplight, I wandered the Capital Wasteland for a while. I took the odd job here and there, but things were pretty hot with the Brotherhood of Steel running the show. So I hitched a ride with a caravan and made my way north until I ended up here. Made a pretty decent name for myself before I heard that the Gunners needed some sharpshooters. You know that last part already, though. Worst mistake of my life.”

“You were what, sixteen when you left?” He nodded. I was stunned. Hiring himself out as a sniper at the tender age of sixteen? _At sixteen I was flipping burgers, not shooting people._ “Guess you grow up fast out here. If you don't mind my asking,” I said tentatively, “how old are you now?”

“Almost twenty-three.”

I blinked at him. “I left for Basic Training when I was twenty-three. And here you are, having lived an entire life in that time.” I reviewed his words in my mind. “Who are the Brotherhood of Steel?”

An irritated grumble came from my companion. “They're a big militaristic group set on hoarding every piece of technology they can get their hands on in the name of preservation, 'keeping it out of dangerous hands'.” He snorted derisively. “Oh, and they also have a habit, good or bad, of eliminating 'abominations;' anything not human- Super Mutants, ferals, robots, Synths, you name it. They weren't so bad when I was a kid,” he added, “but their new leader is a fanatic. Max-something-or-other.” A yawn interrupted his recounting, and he finished with, “It was too hard to get a job as a mercenary competing with those walking tin cans, so I came here.”

“Thank you for sharing your story with me. It's nice to learn a little more about the man who's watching my back.” I said, sincerely. “It takes a lot of courage to just pick up and move away from everything you've ever known... and lonely, too.” _Like when I left to join the Army_ , I thought with a brief touch of sadness. _But he's had it worse than I ever did._

He turned to give me a frank look, blue eyes glittering from under the brim of his cap. “Look, I know I tend to be a pain in the ass—ugh, I mean, I know I tend to be arrogant and I come off like I want to be alone. Nothing could be further from the truth. Being alone scares the heck out of me. Now that we've been working together for a bit, I'm beginning to realize how much I missed having someone around.”

“ _He's not looking for a friend, but I think he needs one.”_ Daisy's words came back to me. _I think that goes for both of us,_ I sighed to myself. _Loneliness comes in all flavors._

“It is nice, especially when it's good company.” He blinked at me in surprise, and a small bit of color touched his cheeks at my words. _Oh my god, did that just come out the way I think it did?_ My own cheeks flaming, I tried to cover my slip, quickly adding, “And I'm happy to watch your back.” I said wryly in an effort to keep things light, “...watch it disappear ahead of me as you effortlessly traverse the terrain of the Wasteland, but watching it nonetheless.”

A sleepy chuckle answered that volley. “Thanks, Boss. By the way, if I can be completely honest for a second, your jokes are terrible... but you're pretty good company, too.”

“Thanks, Mac. I try. Go get some sleep. I'll take first watch. I need to stretch out my poor muscles anyway.”


	19. Concord

We heard the pop and _bzap_ of a firefight before we even reached the edge of the city. Not taking any chances, we crept cautiously along the side of a building, weapons out and ready. From around the corner, we saw a group of raiders assaulting an old museum building. They had hastily taken positions behind old vehicles and piles of sandbags, firing non-stop.

“Minutemen must've holed up in the museum,” I speculated quietly, “or else those guys wouldn't still be shooting.” From overhead, a bright line of red laser light speared out, catching one of the raiders in the chest, causing him to stagger back with a curse. “Time to go.”

As we had previously planned, MacCready set himself up to snipe at the raiders, focusing on taking any long-range head shots that presented themselves. I crouched next to him, scanning the immediate area for threats, providing a bit of extra armored cover, ready to take out anyone who advanced on our position. The combat shotgun had a big kick I needed to compensate for, but when one of the raiders tried to rush us, it only took one powerful shot to lay them out on the street, dead.

Soon enough, between MacCready and the elevated laser shooter, there was only one raider left. He crouched behind a pile of sandbags, hidden from both long-range weapons. “Cover me,” I hissed to my companion as I hunched my way across the street, keeping as low and quiet as I could manage. The adrenaline racing through my veins helped me ignore the pervasive soreness of our travels. Ducking behind the wall of another ruined building, I peeked out just enough to catch sight of my quarry. It was only a shoulder shot, but it was enough, invoking my V.A.T.S. assistance to guide the round.

_Blam!_

The raider shot upright with a scream as his arm practically split open from the short-range shell. As soon as his head cleared the sandbags, it crumbled in a spray of blood courtesy of MacCready's sniper rifle. But we barely had time to recuperate. As soon as the man who had wielded the laser rifle spotted us in the street, he called out in a powerful voice.

“Hey, up here! On the balcony!” A tall, muscular black man wearing a colonial duster and an old leather hat pinned up on one side was waving at us frantically. He had an enormous laser musket grasped in his other hand. “I've got a group of settlers inside! The Raiders are almost through the door! Help us, please!” Without waiting for our reply, he darted back inside the building.

“Come on!” We darted across the street towards the front door, stopping just short of barging through. Anything could be on the other side. Almost as one, we both crouched down, cracking the door open just wide enough to allow for entry. The open entrance hall was quiet, but the echo of running feet and occasional frustrated shout or discharge of a firearm told us the building was far from clear.

MacCready slung his sniper rifle to his back, and took out a small 10mm pistol I didn't even know he carried. I took the lead, and we crept through the halls and stairwells of the old museum, making our way to the trapped settlers on the third floor. MacCready shuffled backwards, keeping one hand lightly on my shoulder at all times, letting me know where he was, while guarding my back. _Very literal definition of 'bodyguard,'_ I snickered to myself, trying to keep from thinking too hard about what we were hunting down. _At least we have similar squad tactics._

As soon as a raider crossed the path we were tracing, I concentrated, using my Pip-Boy's assistance again and again to guide my shots and take out our targets quickly. Once the first shot was fired, it was a string of shots one after another as the raiders reacted to our rescue mission. _Don't think, just fire. Just breathe and aim. Another down. Listen for footsteps. Aim and squeeze the trigger._ At one point, I heard the _pop-pop-pop_ of MacCready's pistol behind me, taking out a raider trying to sneak around to ambush us from behind. As soon as his hand returned to my shoulder, we moved forward again.

Soon enough, we reached a locked door. As we stood up to approach, it swung open and we were beckoned inside. “Through here, come on!” The door closed behind us nearly on our heels as we passed the man who had asked for help outside.

“Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing's impeccable. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.” The black man from the balcony approached us, gloved hand outstretched in welcome. He had a worried look on his face, but a genuine smile for both me and MacCready at our entrance. “We don't have much time before more raiders get here. How did you find us?”

I shook his hand. “Anne and MacCready. We heard the Minutemen were up this way.” I answered honestly. If they were pressed for time, dancing around the subject wouldn't do any good. “I was told you might be able to help decode some technology for me.”

“The Minutemen? I'm afraid you're looking at them. It's just me now. And as you can see, we're in a bit of a mess here.” Garvey gestured to the small group of people around him. “Listen. We need your help. And then maybe we can help you, all right?”

MacCready snorted quietly behind me, and I ignored it to answer, “What can we do?”

“We're trying to find a place where we can settle down.” He explained. “We've been pushed here all the way from Quincy. Tried to stop in Lexington, but we were decimated by a pack of feral Ghouls. Here in Concord seemed good, too, but we've been hounded by wave after wave of raiders.

“Originally, there were twenty of us.” His face dropped in sadness and fatigue. “Yesterday, there were eight. Today, we're only five.” And he gestured around the room. “Mama Murphy over there,” an old woman staring into the middle distance with filmy blue eyes occupied one of the chairs, dressed in a closet's worth of gypsy jewelry and scarves, “has had visions of a place called 'Sanctuary' and has been guiding us. She says we're not far now.”

“And you believe her?” spat MacCready cynically. “I know an addict when I see one. You're following the Psycho dreams of a lunatic.” He shrugged off the hand I placed on his arm to quiet him and stalked off to stare out the window, muttering intensely to me as he did, “I don't think you should trust these guys, Boss, but it's your call.”

Garvey looked at me with an almost pleading expression on his open, honest face. “I know it sounds crazy, but she's been right before. Just go talk to her, you'll see.” With that, he took up his position at the interior door again.

 _What do I have to lose?_ I sat down in another chair facing the old woman. She lifted her head, her eyes slowly focusing on my face. “Well look here. Our rescuer. And my heroine. Hello, Dorothy.”

 _More like heroin_ , I mused, _looks like MacCready was right... again._ “My name is Anne, Mama Murphy, not Dorothy,” I corrected her.

“Oh-ho-ho, I know that, dear.” she chuckled, her broken voice wheezing in amusement. “And you're not from Kansas, either.”

That stopped me cold, and I stared at her disbelievingly. “What did you say?”

“Oh, I know what you're thinkin'. This old lady, she's out of her mind. But it's the chems. They give ole Mama Murphy the 'Sight'.” She shifted in her chair, tucking a shawl more comfortably across her shoulders. “I need chems to get a real clear vision, but it whispers to me all the time. Whispers that tell me you're far, far from home, and the 'tornado' that brought you here still swirls across the Commonwealth. This is no dream, kid. It's real.”

I touched my cheek where the original shrapnel had drawn blood. “Not a dream. I knew that, I think.”

She started shaking, still in the throes of her Sight. “We're gonna need your help. Something's coming. I see... Oh, it's horrible, kid. Claws and teeth and horns. The very face of death itself.” With a shudder, Mama Murphy drooped suddenly, her head bowing to her chest, voice barely audible. “That's all I can manage. That's all. I need to rest now. And you have a job to do...”

Shaken to my core, and undeniably believing that this old woman knew things, saw things, that could not be explained through normal means, I stood up just as MacCready called from the window. “Boss? More raiders incoming!”

“Damn it!” exclaimed Garvey, darting to the other window to take a look. “Wow, you've got some good eyes on you, MacCready. I can barely see them.” He grabbed my sleeve, pulling me over to a very muscular man in grease-stained overalls typing away at a terminal in the corner. “We'd better talk fast. We have a plan to get ourselves out of here and get to where Mama Murphy is guiding us, but, well... Sturges, tell her.”

The second man turned around to address me. He had thick black hair swept up in a high pompadour style and a friendly, if stressed, smile. “Heya, darlin'” he drawled. “Y'see, up on the roof's an old Brotherhood vertibird helicopter thingamajig. Dunno how it got here, but it's carrying a set of pristine T-45 power armor just waiting to be used. Power armor is sweet; it has an old West-Tek internalized servo-system. Inside that baby, super is the new normal. You'll be stronger, tougher, resistant to rads, able to leap from tall buildings in a single bound... Problem is, the armor's got no juice.” He ran a hand through his thick hair.

Garvey broke in at this point. “What you'll need is an old pre-war F.C., a standardized Fusion Core. Your high-grade, long-term nuclear battery. Used by the military and some companies, way back when. And we know right where to find one.”

“But we can't get to the damn thing. It's down in the basement, locked behind a security gate.” Sturges continued. “Look... I fix stuff. I tinker. Bypassing security ain't exactly my forte. You could give it a shot,” he gestured to the terminal. “Get that core, get the suit, you can rip the minigun right off the vertibird. Do that, and those raiders get an express ticket to Hell. Just aim it at the bad guys, and do the ole' 'spray and pray'. You dig?”

“Me?” I looked around the room.

“Yeah, you.” Sturges insisted as Garvey returned to the window. “I know what you're thinking. This guy's huge. Bet he could lift that minigun without stupid power armor. Nuh-uh. I don't do guns. I'm a fixer, not a fighter.”

I stole a glance at the other occupants of the room. Mama Murphy was dozing in her chair and hadn't moved. Two more people, a man and a woman who both looked exhausted, were huddled behind a desk in each others' arms. Garvey and MacCready were at their respective windows, weapons ready, keeping eyes on the street. “If you're going to do this,” MacCready suggested, glancing over his shoulder, “move fast. We don't have long before they start shooting.”

That decided me. “All right, Sturges.” I gave him a small push to gain access to the terminal. “Let me see what I can do.” _Here goes nothing._

The extendable cable attachment from my Pip-Boy slotted easily into the computer's interface port. As soon as the connection was established, I felt that familiar tingle along my nerves. _Oh, thank goodness._ MacCready had suggested it might work, but this was the first time I had tried hacking a terminal. Time seemed to slow. Guided by the electrical assistance, my fingers fairly flew across the keyboard. Soon, I saw a list of random words blossom across the screen, all with the same number of letters. _Hacking takes the form of a word puzzle? Okay, I can do this._

The first guess was unsuccessful, but a small line underneath the code told me that I had gotten three of the letters right. Perusing the rest of the list, I quickly located a different word with three matching letters. Success! The computer's screen shifted to list the command to unlock the security gate in the basement. As soon as it did, the Pip-Boy's assistance faded, and I quickly switched to my INV screen to see a third line had appeared- “Hacker”. _Creative._

“Ha! Man, I knew you'd be able to hack that thing. Nice work.” Sturges had been leaning over me, fascinated. He gave me a hearty clap on my back that nearly sent me face first into the terminal. _Dang, this guy's strong._ “All right, since you guys already cleaned the building it should be a piece of cake to nip down there, grab the fusion core out of the generator- just pull it straight out- and head to the roof to get that power armor.”

I snickered, “Get to the choppa?”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

“Boss, you done yet?” called MacCready from the window. “They're here!”

“On my way!” I called back as I darted out the door Sturges had opened for me. Garvey had already moved back onto the balcony, MacCready moving to join him.

I raced down the stairs, a reckless pace in a building that was creaking and covered in piles of debris. Sure enough, the central basement room had a large generator behind a steel grate door. Barely slowing down, I yanked it open and pulled what I hoped was the fusion core from the center of the console. As soon as I had the can-sized core, the generator whined down with a groan and flicker of lights. _Got it._ Racing back up the stairs, I charged past the four settlers in the third floor office, the pop of gunfire outside reaching me over the sound of my labored breathing. _God, I hate running up stairs._ Sturges pointed me to a back stairwell, and I ascended into bright sunlight on the roof.

I had to pause to catch my breath. There was indeed a weird-looking helicopter on the roof, its back panel gaping open. Inside was what must be this “power armor.” Standing over seven feet tall, it gleamed metallic and menacing, looking like a giant robot. “It's an exoskeleton,” I breathed to myself, approaching quickly but cautiously. Located in the very center of the back panel was an intake aperture the exact size of the fusion core I grasped in my hand. To the sound of increasing gunfire, I slammed the core in place. The armor hissed and panels extended up from the limbs and torso, exposing a human-shaped and -sized cavity inside. Not bothering to think about how I was going to do this, there was no time, I stepped up and into the interior.

The panels closed around me. My left arm panel closed around the Pip-Boy with an extra pulse of energy. _This, too?_ I closed my eyes briefly against the nearly dizzying sense of power the armor elicited. The armor's helmet had a head-up display inside and the first thing I noticed was the power level from the core was only at 50%. _I hope it's enough._ Taking a few steps backwards to exit the vertibird, the armor felt like an extension of myself. _No time, gotta move!_ I raced towards the front of the vehicle, spying the minigun. With one powerful wrench of my arms, the gun detached easily from its base, spraying a cascade of bolts.

Thundering to the front edge of the roof, I looked down to see a much larger contingent of raiders pressing forward. Garvey and MacCready were hard pressed to keep them from rushing the front door, and it was only a short matter of time before enough of them worked up the courage to storm the building in force. I was stuck up here! The minigun could probably do some damage, but most of the raiders would be out of its most effective range. There was no way I could fit into the narrow stairwell leading from the roof in this thing. _“Able to leap from tall buildings in a single bound”_ echoed Sturges' breezy assertion in my head. _But I'm four stories up!_

As I wavered in fear and indecision, an angry shout from the balcony reached my ears. Garvey was crouched behind the railing, sending a bolt of laser fire into the press of raiders and MacCready...

My bodyguard was slowly picking himself up to retake his sniping position on the rail, a widening patch of red soaking his left arm. _Oh, hell no!_

The raiders screamed in abject terror as the resounding _BOOM_ of my landing cracked the concrete and tumbled those nearest me to lie prone on the ground. I whirled in a frenzy of anger, the minigun spinning to life, peppering anything and everything I pointed at to shreds. Trusting Garvey and MacCready to catch any stragglers, I stomped down the street like a bullet-fueled tornado of death. The noise of the minigun overpowered my frightened and angry snarling. _“No you don't! You're not getting away! Fuck you! Oh no you don't! Leave us alone! No you don't!”_ I shrieked at the top of my lungs, tramping forward like a juggernaut, unstoppable in my power armor.

The few remaining raiders had reached the end of the broad street. Before they had a chance to react, an enormous tawny brown form charged up from a sloping crater in the concrete. At least twenty feet from head to tail, all I could register was _dragon!_ before it descended on the unfortunate raiders, slicing them to shreds with its claws. _No, not a dragon._ I didn't know what it was. It raised its wickedly-horned head up and roared angrily, standing tall on thick, muscular back legs. Its long tail whipped back and forth, and wickedly clawed forelimbs clenched and swiped at the air.

“Deathclaw!” shouted Garvey, his powerful baritone voice cracking in shock and terror. “Get out of there!” A line of red speared the air, catching the beast on its side. It seemed to merely shrug off the beam, turning to fix its beady eyes on me. It charged.

 _There's no way I can turn and run._ Panicked, I spun up the minigun, trying desperately to hold fire steady on its head, keep it from reaching me. I backed towards the museum, trigger pressed as hard as I could, spraying a rain of bullets across the creature's hide. My onslaught only slowed it a trifle as it hunched forward, clawing towards me with unbelievable speed. I tried to back up faster, to keep ahead of its grasp, letting go of the trigger and allowing the minigun to spin down for a second. _Oh, shit!_

A _crack_ rang out above me, catching the deathclaw in its right eye. Howling in rage and pain, it reared up to its fullest height to shriek its hatred at the sky. “Belly!” screamed MacCready, “Hit its belly!”

I swung the minigun back up, spinning the rounds into the creature's belly at close range. Finally, the bullets penetrated the scaly armor of the beast, tearing a line of gaping holes into the softer skin underneath. The deathclaw screamed again, in mortal agony, and made one last desperate leap forward. The final rounds sliced across its chest, minigun finally running dry, as the dying animal crashed into me, tumbling us both to the ground and trapping me beneath its sprawling form. The power armor was as good as Sturges claimed, keeping me from being crushed, but I was unable to stand up. I did try to wave one arm, letting my companions know I was okay, but wasn't sure if they saw me. All I could see was the sky, framed by the slowly cooling body of the deathclaw. _Well, this is going to haunt me later,_ I thought in the haze of adrenaline.

After only a minute or two, three sets of running feet approached my position. “Hey, you all right in there?” I wasn't sure who spoke, but I gave a thumbs-up and an affirmative grunt. “Fine, but I can't get up.”

“Don't worry, Boss,” MacCready's relieved tones reached my ear. “We'll get you out of there.” He came into view, leaning over my helmet with a broad, cocky grin. “That,” he announced almost gleefully, “was amazing. It takes a lot to impress me, but watching you kill that deathclaw...” and he gave a low whistle, “that was something else.”

“Glad to have entertained you,” I replied with a little bit of sarcasm at his cavalier attitude. _Never mind that I was frantic, terrified, angry, and a host of other lovely conflicting feelings._ “I'd like to get up now, please.” The adrenaline high had faded, and I was getting fatigued and cold fast.

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Between Garvey, Sturges, MacCready, and the power armor's own hydraulic strength, we were able to roll enough of the enormous creature to one side to allow me to shimmy out from underneath. The fusion core was nearly depleted, and I decided to temporarily get out of the armor to save what was left for the trek to Sanctuary. Garvey went to collect the remaining settlers, Sturges rather matter-of-factly butchered the deathclaw (“Good eating on those, and we could use the meal” he commented pleasantly), and MacCready and I searched the bodies for useful loot.

In less time than anticipated, everyone was gathered in front of the old museum, ready to go. I re-entered the power armor and we began our journey towards Sanctuary.


	20. Sanctuary

Mama Murphy was as good as her word. We made the trek to Sanctuary in less than an hour, the seven of us crossing the bridge over a small river into Sanctuary Hills housing development with the afternoon light throwing our lengthening shadows ahead into the quiet neighborhood. I was struck with how intact the houses looked compared to downtown Boston. Sure, they were dilapidated. 200 years of neglect left their mark, but the frames were basically sound, the walls on most of the buildings intact. With a comparative minimum of effort, this place could become a decent place to live.

We continued up the street until I spied what looked like a large mechanic's frame standing at the back of a car port. With the last dregs of power left in the fusion core, I angled the power armor to stand underneath the frame. _It's as good a place as any._ Hitting the release button, I exited to a cool breeze and gave the armor a fond pat on my way out from the overhanging roof.

The others were standing in a small group on the street in front of the house. Garvey was speaking encouragingly to the distraught couple, making broad gestures with his hands. “I mean, look at this place. I really think this could be what we've been looking for. You've got to look past what it is, to what it could be. We've got water, plenty of space, should be pretty defensible...” He broke off at my approach. “Anyway, we can discuss this in detail later.” He turned to me. “Now that we've got some breathing room, we can talk about why you found us.”

“It's kind of a long story,” I began, and told him all about the Pip-Boy and how I think I got here. About three sentences into my recitation, Garvey motioned Sturges to come over to listen. The other three settlers moved off to start evening preparations. By the time I finished Sturges was practically twitching his fingers in eagerness to examine my Pip-Boy, and Garvey looked very thoughtful.

“I'm not sure what I can do, but you can count on the Minutemen... all one of me.” he finally said. “I'd like to help, but you know my situation. I've got to deal with the immediate problems first. We can barely help ourselves right now. So... there's something I need to ask you.”

“Okay,” I replied tentatively.

“What we need is a place to live, and the numbers to build the Minutemen back up to a force for good.” Garvey explained. “Here's what I'm thinking, so hear me out. If you can stay for a few days, help us get the basics up and running, I can ask Sturges here to take a look at your Pip-Boy when he has some time and see if there's anything new he can tell you about it.”

Sturges spoke up, “Yeah. I'd love to take a look at that thing, but right now I need to help get this settlement livable.”

“So,” Garvey continued, “would you be willing to help us out for a couple of days, at least until we get some more people here? In exchange, Sturges will happily-”

“Very happily,” Sturges added with a friendly grin.

“-very happily take a look at your Pip-Boy. Does that sound like a good deal to you?” Garvey looked around the development, as if already planning where to build.

I turned to murmur to MacCready, “Your thoughts?”

He muttered very quietly in my ear, “I don't know how much they can tell us, Boss. This Sturges guy doesn't look like the science type to me. Still, having allies isn't a bad thing, and if they owe you a favor or two... It's your decision. I wouldn't stay any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“All right, Garvey, you've got a deal,” I told him, and his face lit up with a genuinely grateful smile. “But only until you get some more settlers here. We can't stay for long.”

“Sounds good.” We shook hands. “I'll even make you a Minuteman. That way, you can always call on us if you need us. And, you can send anyone looking for a home to us here.” He grinned at my surprised blink, and added, “General.”

“Oh, no.” I insisted. “I was a Staff Sergeant in the Army. There's no way you're commissioning me.” I heard MacCready's muffled snicker behind me. “You're the last Minuteman, _you're_ the General.” I twisted a wry grin, elbowing my companion in the ribs to shut him up. “Besides, the NCOs are the ones with boots on the ground.”

Garvey's face fell, but he reluctantly agreed to my terms. “Fine... Sarge.” I groaned and MacCready broke out into a hearty guffaw.

That first evening was spent surveying the neighborhood, scavenging supplies, dismantling broken furniture and beginning the long process of making the area inhabitable. We picked a couple of houses that were mostly intact, and worked on getting some basic necessities set up. Sturges was instrumental in repairing the walls, tossing instructions over his shoulder at the rest of us on how to cobble together basic necessities using the scraps from our salvage.

MacCready accidentally let slip that I was a repair technician, another tidbit from my stolen memories I hadn't known he knew. As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze up, apology written all over his face when I leveled an angry glare at him. But the words had been said.

“Hey, great!” Sturges had exclaimed happily. “Another member of the hammer-and-nails club! Building a couple of beds while I work on getting a generator going should be a breeze.”

“Uh, not quite.” At his confused expression, I explained further. “I work on a much smaller scale, you see... and it's not building so much as maintenance and repair.”

“What do you do, then?” he inquired, running a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of grease on the side of his head.

“I... fix musical instruments. Flutes, clarinets, trumpets, that sort of thing. Had my own shop and everything.” My shoulders drooped a bit, homesickness sneaking up on me. “Not much call for that kind of thing out here.”

“Hey, that's cool!” Sturges' enthusiasm teased a slight smile from me, he was so cheerfully upbeat. “Any kind of repair skill is useful. Here, let me show you the basics...”

In silent apology, MacCready stayed to help me after Sturges finished his lesson. In the few hours of light we had available, we managed to scrape together enough basic beds for most of the settlers. Sturges and Garvey moved them into a couple of the houses while we grabbed a quick bite of dinner. Deathclaw steak was tough and chewy, but nutritious, if my bodyguard was to be believed.

When it got too dark to see, Garvey led me to one of the partially repaired houses, a single bed placed in the main room. The others were apparently staying in the house next door. Garvey figured, correctly, that I would be more comfortable with my own space away from people I didn't know all that well, and merely smiled at my thanks. “Giving you some privacy is the least we can do for you after everything you've done for us today,” he explained. “Sleep well, Sarge. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, General Garvey.”

The light from my Pip-Boy was bright enough for me to make my way over to the bed. MacCready had already piled his own sleeping spot on the floor with enough random fabric that it looked almost comfortable. He blinked at me sleepily from halfway across the room as I stretched out under a tattered blanket. “You sure you're okay there?” I asked.

“Fine, Boss.” He rolled his eyes. “You're the boss, you get the bed. This beats sleeping on a rocky cave floor any day. G'night... _Sarge_.” A snicker floated in the air.

 _I'm gonna get him for that._ “Good night, _Mac_.”


	21. Lessons in Compassion

The deathclaw roared, standing impossibly tall. Its murderous beady red eyes locked on me, and I desperately tried to escape. My power armor moved sluggishly, the core running out of energy as I backed away. With the last dregs of juice, I lifted the minigun to strafe the monster's belly.

Click!

 _Oh no, I'm out of ammo!_ I tried to scream as the wicked claws swiped the weapon out of my frozen hands. The creature leaped, landing on top of my useless power armor, jaws opening wide in another bone-shattering bellow. Razor-sharp talons shredded the protective plates, metal falling away in strips of silvery ribbons, blowing away in a frigid breeze. One enormous back foot stepped down on my suddenly unarmored body, squeezing the breath from my lungs in frantic gasps.

I writhed helplessly, unable to free myself, unable to breathe, freezing in the cold mud beneath me as the deathclaw slowly lowered its head. Its jaws gaped impossibly wide, dagger-like teeth sinking towards my neck. With my last breath, I struggled to sit up, screaming--

“Hey, hey, it's all right. I've got ya, Boss.” MacCready's voice murmured in my ear, dragging me away from the terror of death. “It's just a nightmare. C'mon, snap out of it.” I felt arms around me, holding me upright as I gasped and shivered. The room was pitch black and freezing cold. My body shuddered in reaction, spasming in delayed shock at my close call that morning. I tried to form words, but all that left my lips was a gasping sob. I leaned into the warmth against my side, feeling tears slide down my cheek.

The arms tightened into a comforting embrace, and I heard the rumble of MacCready's voice, calm and lightly encouraging. “I wondered when it was going to hit you,” he mused, pulling me closer, tucking the top of my head under his bearded chin. “Next lesson: Nothing turns your shorts brown faster than a deathclaw charging at you,” he added in amusement with a grin I could feel, but not appreciate.

“I...” was all I got out before I starting shaking again. I could feel the vapor from my breath in the air, even if I couldn't see it. The body holding me was reassuringly warm, and I instinctively turned to press closer, the feel of a scarred leather duster under my grasping fingers.

“Geez, your hands are freezing.” He took one of my hands in his, the heat of his skin a blessing.

“I... can't stop shivering.” Every time I closed my eyes, the deathclaw's jaws descended, trying to tear out my throat. I curled up tight, leaning hard against MacCready in an effort to stave off the vision. “I keep seeing it, seeing its teeth...”

“Hold on.” His warmth left my side and I curled up tighter in my own jacket, shivering harder to try and hold on to the fading heat. I heard a slight rustling of cloth and the feel of his body shifting. Next thing I knew, I heard his voice behind me on the bed. “C'mere.” I froze.

He sighed and repeated himself. “Come here, Boss. I'm not going to do anything.” When I still couldn't make myself move, he gently reached out and guided my cold, shaking body into a full-length embrace. I could feel the heat of his chest through our clothing, and his arms folding over mine. As soon as I had relaxed a trifle, he threw the tattered blanket over both of us. “There ya go,” he said as I calmed further, the shared warmth driving away the worst of the frigid air. “Just breathe and relax. I'm right here if it hits you again, okay?”

I nodded. With the chills gone, I drifted back to sleep, the presence of my companion keeping the nightmare deathclaw from returning. “Thank you,” I whispered as I dozed off.

His reply was a slumbering mutter, “...welcome.”

-0-

It took three days after the radio beacon was activated before the first of the new settlers showed up. During that time, we stayed busy helping fix up several more houses, building more beds and chairs, and other furniture needed for the eventual population. Sturges was a mechanical genius, cobbling together a generator, a water pump/purifier for the river surrounding the development, and even the radio beacon designed to let people know how to find us. I discovered the RADIO screen on my Pip-Boy could pick up the station in Diamond City, and we frequently worked to the sounds of classic rock punctuated by the Wasteland's most hilariously incompetent DJ blasting out the the device's speakers.

True to his word, every evening Sturges would “borrow” my Pip-Boy for a few hours, trying to learn its secrets. He was fascinated with the device and my internal connection to it. And every night just before we retired, he would return, shaking his head with a dejected droop to his shoulders.

The nights were cold and getting colder. To my outward relief and private inner disappointment, MacCready and I found a stash of blankets in a buried cedar chest during one of our salvage trips. With an armful each, we were able to hand most of them out and keep enough for ourselves to make our separate beds reasonably comfortable. There were three beds in the room we shared now, each with its own linen.

By the time word of incoming settlers reached us, we were both growing uneasy and impatient at the delay. It was okay for a few days, but as the houses were fixed up, they started to look more and more like a neighborhood from my own life, and it twisted me up inside. MacCready griped constantly about the lack of earning caps, his inexperience with carpentry and repair, and the waste of his true skills as a sniper. He even disappeared for an afternoon when Sturges “borrowed” me with my Pip-Boy to poke and prod at the connections in my arm, the first time we had been apart since he took the contract as my bodyguard. When Sturges finally released me with the usual shrug of perplexed disappointment, I was relieved to see him almost immediately. He was crossing the bridge into Sanctuary, a dressed deer carcass (“Radstag,” he corrected me soon enough, “the best steaks you can get next to a brahmin.”) over his shoulders. Going hunting appeared to be a reasonable alternative to mercenary work, since there was a more relaxed swing to his stride and a faint smirk on his lips as he handed the meat off to Marcy Long, the wife of the married couple we rescued in Concord.

 _That radstag from yesterday will come in handy if we we're going to have extra mouths to feed tonight._ MacCready and I were planning on leaving the next morning, as long as the settlers made it in time to get a good nights' sleep. Mid-afternoon there was a commotion on the bridge as a small group of people made their weary way into Sanctuary. We both dropped what we were doing to help greet and get the new arrivals settled in. Preston Garvey had immediately taken charge, as I knew he would, leading the first group of people into one of the restored houses. We approached the remaining group, a small family- husband, wife, two kids, and what appeared to be one set of grandparents.

“Yellow house on the left?” I murmured to MacCready, and he nodded in agreement, walking over and offering to help carry some of the family's few belongings to their new home. We introduced ourselves, trying to make small talk. They were the Webbs, and were running from raiders who had torched their farm, desperate to start a new life somewhere safe. They were practically in shock when we led them into the house and said it was theirs now. The grandparents sank gratefully onto one of the beds, holding hands. The husband embraced me fiercely, vowing he would do anything to earn his keep. When I looked over, the two young children had attached themselves to MacCready's legs, hugging him for all their worth, their mother beaming at him with tears running down her face. He had an unreadable expression in his glittering eyes, and his hands moved automatically to ruffle the boys' hair in an affectionate gesture.

By the time I finished helping the family settle in, telling them where to go for their needs, inviting them to dinner, and suggesting they meet the rest of the inhabitants, MacCready had disappeared.

I found him in the house where we had been staying, sitting on one of the beds with his back to me.

“So, the Webb family is all moved in. Looks like we'll be able to head out tomorrow, I guess. Sturges has pretty much admitted he's completely stumped by my Pip-Boy.” No answer. Pressing on in a forced upbeat tone, I continued. “Probably best we got back to Diamond City. Nick might have some more information for us. Or we can pick up another contract job.”

A halfhearted shrug met this announcement. I sat down on the bed next to his, facing him. He was staring down with the same expression I remembered from the bar at the Dugout Inn. Taking a chance, I ducked my head to peer into his deep blue eyes. “Hey,” I said gently, “want to talk about it?”

He turned his head away, then peered up at me from the corner of his eye. “This place...” He took a deep breath, letting it out with a slight shudder and, in a voice almost too quiet to catch, “I wanted to find a place like this for my family, back before...” He sighed, and rubbed at his face, giving his slight goatee an extra scratch. “Somewhere safe, far away from danger, where we could live our lives.”

“Your family?” I asked gently, a little confused. “I thought you said you didn't know your parents.”

“I didn't.” He brought up one knee, hugging it to his chest. “I have... _had_ a beautiful wife, named Lucy...” His voice caught in a broken sob. “We have a son we named Duncan...” He trailed off completely and dropped his head down to rest on his upraised leg, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I'm so sorry.” In a outpouring of compassion, I moved over to sit next to him, pulling his slumped shoulders towards me in a supportive embrace. I could feel him shaking with suppressed emotion.

“It's all right,” he managed in a thick voice, “Happened a while ago... it just still _hits_ me sometimes- seeing that family, and when those boys hugged me... I- I had to leave.”

“It's okay,” my voice faltered, struggling to find something to say. “I'm here.” This time it was my turn to hold him as deep emotion swept his lean form, the quiet sobs of a grieving man. I realized then that his aloofness, his complaining and snarky humor, the bristly attitude; they were all part of the defense he created to keep from tearing himself apart inside. To see him open up enough to mourn was a true gift of his friendship. “You can always lean on me.” I assured him.

He straightened up to meet my gaze with his crystal blue eyes, bloodshot and wet with tears. “I think I'm figuring that out.” A slight grateful smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

_And here I had thought he was just a heartless mercenary. He's so young to have gone through so much. A little compassion goes a long way._


	22. Cambridge

We headed southeast from Sanctuary, following the broken road as it meandered its way across the landscape in the general direction of Boston. Garvey was sad to see us go, but reassured us we'd have a place to stay if we ever made it back that way. He was already stepping up into his new role as the General of the Minutemen, taking in more settlers and establishing Sanctuary as a protected settlement even as we crossed the bridge.

As we paced along in a companionable rapport, my mind kept wandering back to the strange conversation I had with Mama Murphy right before we left. The old seer had called us into the room where she had been staying. I don't know how, but she had secured a small stash of varying chems, drugs to help strengthen and focus her Sight. She told me, “I wanna thank ya, kid, for helping us out. You saved our lives. Now, ol' Mama Murphy is too old to be building generators or hauling water, but I can use the Sight to guide you on your way.”

And before I could move, she had stabbed an injection pack that looked similar to a stimpak, but wasn't, into her arm. (“Psycho,” MacCready had explained, “truly nasty stuff, lives up to its name.”) Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped alarmingly. When I would have caught her to help her sit upright, MacCready grabbed my arm to stop me, shaking his head. Then she spoke in a haunted, broken voice.

“You've got a long journey ahead to make it home, if you can.” she rasped. “You need to focus... you _are_ the focus, the anchor. The aim of a terrible weapon... a beacon, a scope. The lens is the focus... guiding destruction... But the weapon, ah, the weapon!” She started to shake, sweat beading her brow. “It needs to move... it needs a tripod, a sturdy base. You have found one leg, growing in strength from flesh and bone and the heart of the people. Find the other two... tempered steel and steam-blasted iron. East... go east and south to find your goal...” With a final bone-rattling shudder, she gasped, opening her eyes. “Takes a lot outta me, kid,” she had said in a weary tone. “But I hope it helps.”

“What do you think she meant?” I asked MacCready for the umpteenth time as we walked along.

“Hell if I know, Boss” he said, a scowl crossing his features. “I don't know why you're giving her babbling so much credence.” He was back to his usual prickly self.

“You didn't hear her in Concord. She said some things to me that _no way_ she could have known otherwise. Made some interesting references to how I got here.” I kicked a chunk of concrete. “I don't like it either, but stranger things have happened. Why not a visionary?”

“A mystic hopped up on Psycho? Come _on_ , Boss,” he whined, before a sly smile twitched his bearded face. “Well at least she won't be duping anyone else for a while,” he announced, holding up the selection of chems that had been on the table beside her with a proud flourish.

“Why-? When-? _How_ did you manage that?” I stammered, impressed beyond my annoyance at the theft.

“I have talents, Boss,” he smirked, confidently. “You may be able to pick locks, but I can pick up just about anything else with no one the wiser.”

I made a show of patting my pockets. “You haven't tried that on me, have you?” When he didn't reply, and turned away instead, I grew more insistent. “ _Have_ you?” No answer, but I could see the color rising in his cheeks. “All right, give it back.” _Whatever it is, you sneak thief._

“Fine,” he groaned exaggeratedly. Stowing the chems away in his pack, he dug into his duster pocket with a resigned sigh. “Here.”

“My drivers license?”

“You weren't using it.”

“But- but _why_?”

He shrugged noncommittally, “I dunno. I thought it was neat.”

Rolling my eyes, I huffed at him in feigned annoyance. “If you like it so much, here.” He took it back with a deft grab of his fingers. “I guess I can always get another one if I ever get home.”

“There ya go, Boss. That's the spirit.” The happy grin on his face called up an answering one on mine, however reluctant.

“Don't. _Ever_. Steal from me again. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss.”

-0-

While there were notably fewer humanoid threats this far north in the Commonwealth, the animal life could be just as dangerous. I found this out when a group of irradiated mole-rats burst out of the ground almost at our feet. They were the size of large dogs, hairless and skittering, with a restless energy that made targeting difficult. One clamped down on my leg, my combat armor blocking its teeth until I could fire point-blank into its skull. Compared to a deathclaw, the rodents were almost pathetically easy to kill, but they moved lightning fast and were not only numerous, but extremely aggressive. I found myself back-to-back with MacCready as we mowed down the creatures. As soon as the last was down, we dropped our weapons, taking stock.

“Nice shooting, Boss. I think you may be getting the hang of this.” MacCready commented approvingly, reloading his sniper rifle before checking the creatures for loot. “Bah, nothing on 'em. Useless.”

“What about,” and I swallowed my disgust at the thought, “meat?” Hey, if roaches were edible, anything mammalian had to be a step up.

“ _Technically_ ,” he stressed, “mole-rats are edible, meaning the meat won't kill you. But it is disgusting.” He scrunched his face at the memory. “The fungus we scraped off the walls in Little Lamplight tasted better.”

“Okay, then, I'll take your word for it.” As soon as we had tossed the carcasses off the road, we continued on our way.

My Pip-Boy buzzed a quiet alert as we neared where we thought Cambridge should be based on the icons appearing in my MAP screen. The RADIO tab was pulsing, and I switched over to see what it meant. An additional line had appeared in the list of broadcast stations, titled simply “Military Frequency AF95.” Intrigued, I switched the radio on, turning up the volume, hearing the voice of a young woman.

“ _This is Scribe Haylen of Reconnaissance Squad Gladius to any unit in transmission range. We're requesting support or evac from our position at Cambridge Police Station. Our unit has sustained casualties and we're running low on supplies. Message repeats...”_

I started moving almost before the message was complete. “C'mon, MacCready, let's go!”

We moved along the streets of Cambridge, letting the sound of gunfire and howls of battle guide us. The police station had been fortified, but a streaming mob of feral Ghouls were overwhelming the small force within the outer walls.

“Bring it on!” MacCready screamed angrily, keeping back to strafe the line of mindless attackers. He stayed in the scant shadow of an old trash dumpster, firing unerring head shots as fast as he could keep his rifle loaded. I crouched forward, using the barricades already hastily placed to keep me hidden and protected as I got within range to use my shotgun.

As soon as we had begun our assault decimating the ferals, a voice shouted inside the compound and a renewed stream of laser bolts joined our flanking shots. Between the main force inside and our flanking fire, we were able to finish off the last of the attacking wave while the sun was still high in the sky. MacCready quickly darted across the slain bodies to check for any loot while I rounded the corner carefully, approaching the police station.

“Civilian in the perimeter! Check your fire!” called a powerful deep voice when we entered the gate of the barricade. As soon as I caught sight of the speaker, I understood exactly why the raiders practically pissed themselves when I landed on the street among them in Concord.

Standing nearly eight feet tall in an impressive set of gigantic power armor, a handsome tanned dark-haired man approached us, whirring and clanking in metallic grandeur. Over his shoulder rested the automatic laser rifle that had helped decimate the attacking feral Ghouls. It was a truly remarkable, and deadly, sight. MacCready, however, was less than impressed, growling, “Oh, great, the Brotherhood of Steel, as if the day couldn't get any better” under his breath behind me.

Coming to a halt a few feet from us, the armored man addressed us in a military manner, “We appreciate the assistance, civilian. But what's your business here?” His manner was suspicious, and I decided to play it straight with him.

“We picked up your distress signal and came to see if we could help you out.” I answered him, snapping to the position of attention, one military member to another, even worlds apart. A flicker of recognition crossed his face and he nearly snapped to attention himself before aborting the movement.

“Outstanding. Who are you? Are you from a local settlement perhaps?” His warm amber eyes swept us up and down and the generous lips framed by a neat beard smiled faintly.

“No.” I relaxed my stance when it appeared he wasn't going to become hostile. “I'm Anne, and this is MacCready. He's local, but I'm not... exactly from here. It's a long story, and part of the reason we happened to be nearby. And who are you?”

“Not the most forthcoming answer, but one I'm coming to expect.” This time, he did snap to attention to answer my question. “Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there is Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys.” The two other Brotherhood members were huddled in the entrance of the police station, Haylen treating a nasty wound in Rhys' abdomen. “If I appear suspicious, it's because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we've been constantly under fire.”

“Not surprising, considering your current reputation in the Capital Wasteland.” MacCready chimed in irritably.

Danse ignored the volley, addressing me, “If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side. We're on recon duty, but I'm down a man and our supplies are running low. I've been trying to send a distress call to our superiors, but the signal's too weak to reach them. Scribe Haylen modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station, but I'm afraid it just isn't enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal.”

I pondered his words, aware of my companion's disapproving mien and the angry set of his shoulders. “I assume this isn't something available in the police station?” _It never is_ , I sighed to myself.

Danse shook his head. “Our target is ArcJet Systems, and it contains the technology we need... the Deep Range Transmitter. We infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter and bring it back here. So, what do you say? You willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?”

“Hold on a moment, Danse.” I interjected. “The Brotherhood of Steel... you deal with advanced technology, yes?”

“I'm not sure why you're asking this now, but yes.” His deep voice rang with pride and complete dedication. It was actually rather impressive. “Our order seeks to understand the nature of technology. Its power. Its meaning to us as humans. And we fight to secure that power from those who would abuse it.”

“And anyone and everyone else not in the Brotherhood,” MacCready scoffed in my ear, too quietly for Danse to have heard. I could tell he was really unhappy with the situation here, but if the Brotherhood dealt with technology, maybe they could help me get home. _As much as I hate to do this to him, he's just going to have to suck it up for now._

“All right, then.” I chose my words carefully. “Maybe we can help each other. I need help with, ah, a technology problem. You need an extra gun. You agree to help me, and you get not only my skills,” _modest as they are_ , I thought, “but the services of the best gun in the Commonwealth.”

“For the right price.” insisted MacCready. I shot him a _look_ and he merely met my gaze with cool crystal eyes.

“So you're a mercenary. Typical. Fine. You help us, and I'll see you're fully compensated for your services.” Danse turned to address his subordinates. “Haylen, take Rhys inside and bind his wounds. Rhys, once you're on your feet, I want you to make certain that the perimeter is secure.”

While Danse was distracted with giving orders, I quickly whispered to MacCready, “I can tell you don't like him for some reason, but if these guys know about tech, maybe they can help get me home. Keep it in check, please, will you?” He scowled, but nodded with a quick, “we'll talk about this later, _Boss_.”

Paladin Danse had returned, weapon at the ready. “No time to waste. Let's get moving.”


	23. ArcJet

As we moved down the road, I was hard pressed to keep up with Danse and his seemingly indefatigable drive towards his goal. MacCready was able to easily keep up, but would frequently slow down so as not to leave me behind and to keep the gap between us reasonable. When we came upon a group of raiders harassing a trading caravan, he barely slowed down, taking them by surprise and decimating the surprised attackers without more than a couple of bullets glancing off of Danse's armor. The caravan members barely had time to wave their thanks before we were past, still moving fast. The paladin was a force of nature, an inevitable thunderstorm crackling with red laser fire. It was almost laughable to think he needed my help for anything.

We reached the ArcJet building in less than an hour, though I was winded and dragging by the time we entered the perimeter. _Maybe I should have suggested a quick rest before charging off on another trek,_ I thought, wheezing a little as I finally caught up with the others. Danse and MacCready were waiting by the front door.

As soon as I joined them, Danse spoke. “Listen up. We do this clean and quiet. No heroics and by the book. Understood? Remember, our primary target is the Deep Range Transmitter.” Satisfied we were properly briefed, he quietly opened the doors and we went inside.

The lobby and hallways were a maze of destruction. Danse took point, seemingly undeterred by the piles of debris and scattered furniture. Taking MacCready's murmured suggestion, we let the paladin move ahead while the two of us quickly searched the area, digging through drawers to find valuables and useful items. Being a technology center, there were quite a few items we thought would be lucrative, and small enough to stow in our packs. Danse ranged ahead, calling for us when he came upon a computer locked door.

“All right, Boss, time to show 'im what you're worth,” MacCready encouraged, “Earn us those caps.” The lab had a working terminal in the center of the room, facing the mag-locked doors. Danse had stationed himself right in front of the steel panels, impatiently waiting to proceed. It was obvious what I had to do. _Thank goodness my Pip-Boy makes me an instant hacker, just add water!_ Sure enough, as soon as I had teased out the correct sequence, the door opened with a hiss...

...and bolts of bright blue laser fire seared into the dim room as several humanoid robots marched determinedly through the door. They fired relentlessly, the beams narrowly missing me as I hastily ducked under the solid desk. “Institute Synths!” identified Danse, angrily. He swept his laser rifle in a long arc, matching shot for shot with red bolts of his own, while MacCready retreated back to the doorway to flank with his sniper. I hastily grabbed my laser pistol and popped up from behind the desk to focus on one of the robots.

As soon as my V.A.T.S. system kicked in, the three remaining Synths all halted for a moment, then, in an eerie synchronization of movement, turned to point their weapons in my direction. They did not fire, but moved forward towards my position, giving Danse and MacCready the perfect opportunity to finish them off in a barrage of electricity and ballistics. Exchanging a perplexed look we carefully examined the remains, finding nothing exceptional.

“I thought you said Synths were undetectable from humans?” I asked. Our assailants looked even less human than Valentine, with spindly metal limbs and no disguising flesh or even clothing, just the barest of bipedal forms.

“Gen 3 Synths, yes.” MacCready reminded me. “These appear to be Gen 1. Guess the Institute uses them for field troops or something.”

“All Synthetic life in an abomination.” Danse said emphatically. “Synths are an abuse of technology created by the Institute. Abominations meant to "improve" upon humanity and the very epitome of what the Brotherhood fights to prevent. They must be destroyed without hesitation or mercy.” He grimly tromped ahead, power armor making noisy footfalls down the next maze of rooms. “If the Institute is here, there must be a few pieces of salvage that the Brotherhood might be interested in. After we're done here I'll have to mark this place for sweep and retrieval.” His voice was fading as he continued down the hallway and MacCready and I hurried to catch up.

Danse led us to the main energy core, explaining the transmitter would be located in office at the very top of the circular shaft. Unfortunately, the stairs had been destroyed and the power was out to the elevators. Carefully, we picked our way down to the basement electrical room to try and restore backup power. As soon as he saw the terminal-locked door, Danse merely stepped aside to let me through.

Again, the Pip-Boy assistance was invaluable to my efforts, and in short order MacCready and I were in the main power room next to the shaft, hunting for the backup switch. “Good luck with all this electronic junk,” he admitted ruefully, “I have no idea what any of it does.”

“Not too many computers in that cave of yours growing up?” I asked lightly. He laughed in response.

“No, but if you ever need to carve a tunnel through solid rock...”

“I'll know just who to call. Hey, I think I found it!” I had the feeling MacCready was just humoring me about the generators, since the switch for the backup power was clearly labeled in large letters. Flipping the breaker caused the room to hum to life, slowly feeding power into systems long dormant.

“Synth ambush!” shouted Danse from the main core shaft. “Light 'em up!”

MacCready and I raced back to join Danse as an entire contingent of Gen 1 Synths clattered down the stairs after us. Danse was making a good showing of himself, his laser rifle a constant line of red destruction, but there were simply too many targets for him to take on alone. I darted around the doorway to take up position behind the massive power armored form of the Paladin while MacCready stayed in the small hallway leading to the generator room, sniping whatever came in view of his rifle.

Blue laser fire speared out, catching Danse's power armor, momentarily pausing the rain of deadly bolts. I fired my shotgun, using my V.A.T.S. assistance to blast the torso of the Synth nearest. Again, the Synths all paused for a split second as the Pip-Boy's assistance whispered along my nerves, then resumed firing. The Synth I hit fell, blasted into pieces, and several others charged forward off the stairs. MacCready's rifle took one in the head, dropping it, but more kept coming. With the Synths now on the same level as us and no longer lined up single-file on the stairs, we were in trouble.

Danse and I backed towards MacCready's position step by careful step. I know Mac preferred to snipe from a distance or flanking position, but we couldn't risk friendly cross-fire in such an enclosed area. Soon the three of us were facing a diminished, but still too numerous force, blue laser bolts a constant stream. Danse's armor was showing definite signs of damage, and he had even taken a beam or two across his arms and torso. My own combat armor was nearly destroyed. I took a searing hit to the thigh and crumpled against the wall with a breathless gasp of pain, my shotgun falling from my hands. As soon as I stopped firing, two Synths darted forward, dropping their laser pistols to grab at my arms. They were much stronger than I was, and my efforts to free myself were futile against their metal grasp as they started to drag me across the floor. I screamed, kicking and flailing to no effect.

_Crack! Crack!_

Both Synths crumpled headless to the floor, releasing me. I scrambled back to my shotgun as quickly as I could with my leg in fiery agony. By this time, Danse had swept the room with his rifle in a frenzy of red laser fire, decimating the remaining Synth forces, his expression a rictus of strict, controlled fury. He stomped forward, the thundering steps of his power armor rattling the scattered pieces of Synth that lay in obscene piles across the concrete floor. I watched the incredible display, hissing in pain, resolving to not be on the receiving end of such anger if I could ever prevent it.

“I got ya, Boss!” MacCready darted over and stabbed a Med-X into my thigh. He had remained unscathed, using the available cover to great effect. I hissed again at the relief from pain, though there was still a large blistering burn scoring my leg. “I know it hurts,” he said quickly, “but you're not bleeding and the bone's not broken. Best to save the stimpaks for an emergency.” I nodded my agreement and staggered to my feet with his help, a little woozy from the painkilling injection. We made our way over to the elevator where Danse was waiting for us, his calm military manner restored.

“This should be it. Let's find that transmitter.”

The main office held one last group of five Synths, ransacking the equipment. By this time, we were tired and more than ready to use excessive force to grind down our opposition. They didn't stand a chance against three armed people who just wanted this to be _over_ , damn it! When the initial search of the office proved fruitless, Danse was about ready to tear the computers out of the wall before he paused. “Fan out and check the synth remains. They may have been after the transmitter as well.” Sure enough, MacCready found it on a Synth that had been making its way towards the service elevator leading to the surface. “Outstanding,” Danse praised. “Now, let's get out of here and back to the outpost.”

Despite Danse's eagerness to return, and MacCready's extreme reluctance to travel after dark, we made our way back to Cambridge at a more sedate pace in light of our respective injuries and battle fatigue. The cold night folded around us, providing quiet cover over our returning footsteps.


	24. Brotherhood of Steel

“Fascinating,” was Danse's conclusion at the end of my story the next day. We had spent the night in the police station, tucked away on a couple of cots in an old office opposite the three Brotherhood members. Haylen was welcoming, Rhys was not. We were sitting around the remains of our noon meal, resting after installing the transmitter. MacCready had taken charge of the fee negotiations for our help, irritating Rhys nearly to the point of exchanging blows. I had had to pull the sniper into a chair to calm him down, and Danse sent Rhys out to patrol the perimeter while we talked.

Haylen had been quiet up until this point. “If I may?” she glanced at Danse for permission.

“Go ahead, Scribe Haylen,” he approved. “You're better suited to this kind of thing than I am.”

“It definitely sounds like something the Brotherhood would be interested in. I mainly locate caches of technical advancements to be secured and brought to our scientists, and your Pip-Boy is right up there as far as advanced technology. I don't suppose you'd be willing to let the Brotherhood have it, would you? We could provide you with a Vault-Tec model in exchange.”

I shook my head firmly. “No, Haylen. I'm sorry. It stays with me.” She looked disappointed, Danse looked grimly thoughtful, and out of the corner of my eye MacCready tensed a trifle. “Besides, as I've been told before, none of the others link directly to my body the way this one does.”

“That is significant,” she remarked. “I wish I knew what it meant.” She went still, deep in thought.

“There is also the matter of how those Synths reacted to your presence.” Danse added. “I have never seen them act that way before, almost as if they suddenly realized you had something they wanted.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, exchanging a speaking glance with Haylen. “This strongly suggests the Institute is involved with your coming here, however peripherally.” At these words, Haylen got up to access her terminal in the next room, leaving the three of us to continue our discussion.

“If that's true,” MacCready joined in, somberly, “then it's a good thing we got rid of them all so they couldn't send a message back. The last thing we need is the Institute getting involved.”

I spoke up tentatively. “And maybe I _do_ need to talk to this 'Institute', whoever they are.” At the shocked expressions of my companions, I continued. “No one's really explained to me who these people are, aside from making robot Synths and being the scary bogeyman in the shadows of the Wasteland. How do we _know_ they're really all that bad? Maybe they don't mean any harm?” I pressed on, despite the heavy feeling of disapproval. “After all, those Synths dropped their weapons when they grabbed me...”

“They were trying to kidnap you!” MacCready shouted in exasperation. “Are you saying you're okay with that?”

“No,” I answered him in a low voice. “I guess I didn't think it through.”

“No, you didn't.” He was angry, scowling intensely, eyes steely and narrowed beneath the brim of his cap.

Danse interjected, pointedly answering my question. “They Institute is a group of scientists who went underground when the Great War started. All this time they've been advancing their own science and running countless unknown experiments. Spent the last few decades littering the Commonwealth with their technological nightmares. And the Brotherhood of Steel is determined to stop the Institute from using its technological superiority as a weapon.”

I blinked and looked at my arm. “You think my Pip-Boy is a weapon?”

“I don't know.” Danse admitted reluctantly. “It does appear to make _you_ a more effective fighter by your own admission. That by itself may or may not be the goal.” He paused, thinking. “However, I think its true purpose is greater than just enhancing one individual's combat abilities. I would prefer this technology remain in our custody...”

“ _No_ , Danse.” I clutched my arm to my chest defensively. “If you want the Brotherhood to examine it, I need to be there. Right now, this thing is the only thing linking me to my world, my reality.” I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat at the thought of home, family. “It-it's part of _me_ now. I'm not letting you or anyone else take it away.” MacCready had stood up during my little speech, coming over to stand behind my chair in a protective manner. Despite his earlier irritation, he was right there supporting me when I needed it, and it made me feel better, more confident in my refusal.

Danse appeared disappointed, but respectful of my decision. He lowered his bushy eyebrows, speaking carefully. “In order to access the Brotherhood's wealth of technological information, one needs to be a member of the Brotherhood. During our mission last night, I thought we worked well as a team. It's a refreshing change to work with a civilian who can follow orders properly. So, I'd like to make a proposition.”

MacCready snickered behind me. “Proposing already, Danse? We barely know each other.” I muffed my laugh into a cough behind my hand.

Paladin Danse looked genuinely perplexed. “I'd like to think I'm a good judge of character. There was enough time last night to assess your combat abilities, which, I might add, are quite formidable. In any case I would like to sponsor you into the Brotherhood.” He went on, quickly adding, “You'd have access to advanced military weapons, as well as your own personal suit of Power Armor. Our proctors would stop at nothing to unravel the mystery of your unique Pip-Boy and the extent of its capabilities. Most importantly, you'd have the Brotherhood at your back... ready to spill its own blood to keep you alive. You could spend the rest of your life wandering from place to place, trading an extra hand for a meager reward, or you can join our cause and make a difference.”

I was stunned. Danse seemed sincere, but there was the nagging suspicion in the back of my head that he was merely saying this to get the technology in my possession into Brotherhood control. Unless he was the head of the organization, which was unlikely since he was stuck in an unsupported outpost having to commandeer civilian help just to call for backup, I highly doubted he would have the authority to promise my safety if one of the higher-ups really wanted access to my Pip-Boy.

MacCready was much quicker to answer, and more blunt. “No,” he said flatly. “I'm already under contract to this lady here, and I'm not in the habit of breaking my word.” My spirits lifted at his refusal. _Not like I was worried, right?_

“And I already _have_ someone at my back.” I glanced up to give MacCready a grateful smile, then turned back to address Danse. “I'm afraid we're going to have to decline your generous offer, Paladin Danse. But I really _do_ need to get home. Is there any way to find a compromise? Allow me on board, give you access to my Pip-Boy in exchange for helping me get home?” I tried to give him a winsome smile, unsure of how it would come across.

“I...” he started hesitantly, meeting my eyes with his dark amber ones. “I will have to think about it. I am truly disappointed you won't join our cause, especially with your previous military background. Give me some time to discuss this matter with Elder Maxson.” _Ha, I knew he wasn't the one in charge._ “In the meantime, I'd like to give you my personal radio frequency.” He gestured for my arm, and I tentatively allowed him to access the touchscreen. “This will allow us to contact each other from anywhere in the Commonwealth. If I have any updates for you, I will send you a message via this frequency. Use it only for essential communications.”

Ostensibly leaning down to observe the process, MacCready whispered irrepressibly, “Wow, a proposal and now his private number? You work fast!” in my ear. I batted at him, missing by inches as he swiftly stood back up, chuckling.

Ignoring the flush rising in my face, I merely said with the utmost sincerity. “Thank you, Paladin Danse.”

“Thank you, civilian, for your help. I only hope we can be of assistance to each other more in the future. Good luck on your journey home.”


	25. Hangman

“So it seems we're back to square one again.” I sighed as we trekked down the road, making our circuitous way back to Diamond City. Not knowing where else to go, I figured we could check in with Valentine to see if he had picked up any rumors of “science-y types” around the Commonwealth. I also desperately wanted a hot shower and a night in a warm room. The weather was definitely growing colder. “Every time I think we've found someone who can help us, we just wind up with more theories and few answers.”  
“I dunno, Boss,” MacCready encouraged from a few steps behind me. “We've learned that your electronic buddy there is not from Vault-tec, and is almost certainly tied to the Institute in some manner.” He stopped briefly to loot some caps from an old newspaper box. “It's not Brotherhood technology or they would have told us... and probably locked you up.” His voice had hardened at that last statement. “I'm surprised they didn't. I know for a fact Rhys was trying to get you detained when he learned about your little cybernetic enhancements. Danse outranks him, though.”  
“Is that why you tried to pick a fight with Rhys again?” The morning's departure had been rather tense between MacCready and the Brotherhood members, and I was curious about it.  
“Uh-huh. You're my charge, Boss, and no one is going to detain you as long as I'm around.” There was a hint of possessiveness in his tone and it pleased me for reasons I couldn't quite understand.  
“Thanks, MacCready. By the way, what did you think of our mission assistance?” With his snarky attitude and obvious displeasure for the group we helped out, I wanted to hear this thoughts.  
“I'm not sure if we just helped a few stranded soldiers or pulled the trigger on an invasion of the Commonwealth,” he replied soberly. “I guess we'll have to see. At least they tried to help you in return.”  
My thoughts turned back to the issue at hand. “So, we know a little more than we did. That still doesn't tell me how I got here.”  
“No,” the sniper agreed. “That's the part that seems to have everyone stumped. All you saw, all we saw when we...” he broke up with an apologetic cough, “...well, all we saw was a bright flash and the world appearing to disintegrate around you. It doesn't help that you blacked out at that point.”  
“Yeah, well,” I muttered resentfully at the reminder, “the lounger's programming apparently wasn't able to translate the excruciating searing torture of having my entire body invaded by ribbons of electrically charged wires, either.” I paused, “and we don't have Med-X or stimpaks in my world.”  
“Good point.” We walked along, breath steaming in the air.  
Popping noises echoed from the buildings ahead of us and we slowed, bringing our weapons on point. Coming to a stop in the shadow of a building, MacCready peered up the street through the scope of his sniper rifle. “Heads up, Boss. There's a group up ahead, but they appear to be settlers, not raiders.” He lowered his rifle, flicking the safety back on. “What do you want to do?”  
“Let's see what's going on. Maybe we can help them.” He gave me an incredulous, scornful look. “It's the right thing to do.” I reminded him, “and we're supposed to be helping people, remember? I owe Hancock. Maybe we can convince them to join the Minutemen.” At his continued reluctance, I added, “And Dr. Amari said we would need to assist people around the Commonwealth in order to find this mysterious group who might be able to help me.”  
“Fine,” he griped. “Hope they have some caps on them as a thank you.”  
The group of settlers were initially alarmed at our approach, but when we indicated that we were friendly, quickly calmed down. The man leading the group was quite happy to explain. “We heard there was a great little nook here in town perfect for us to set up a trading settlement. It's just down the street a bit, called Hangman's Alley. Close enough to Diamond City to pick up some of the trade overflow without the snooty mayor getting in our business.”  
“Sounds pretty good to me.” I said, ignoring the elbow in my ribs from MacCready at the “snooty” comment. “Why haven't you set up there yet?”  
“That's the problem,” the headman admitted, shifting his weight nervously. “No sooner than we arrive in the city, we find out the place has been taken over by raiders. They must've just beaten us to it, and we're stuck here.” His voice rose with a note of panic. “We're not fighters, not the kind that can take on a group of entrenched raiders anyway! And we can't go back where we came from. So we're stuck!” A mumbled chorus of voices from the other settlers echoed that sentiment.  
Ignoring my companion's low grumble, he knew I was going to do this, I addressed the man in what I hoped was a confident air. “It seems you're in luck, sir. We're with the Minutemen, and we'd be happy to secure that location for your settlement.”  
“No kiddin'?” he replied, taking a step back in grateful surprise. “The Minutemen, eh? Thought they were all wiped out. You'd do that for us?”  
“The Minutemen are happy to help the citizens of the Commonwealth. Let's go, MacCready.”  
As soon as we had gotten out of earshot, I addressed my companion. “Did that sound as cheesy as I thought it did?”  
“Worse, Boss.” He speared me with a humorously caustic look. “Betcha Garvey would've loved it, though. So, how do you plan for the two of us to take on a group of entrenched raiders in unfamiliar territory?”  
“Uhhhh...”  
“That's what I thought, Sarge.”  
“Without knowing what we're up against, other than 'a group of raiders' I can't formulate a strategy, so lay off.” I know I was carping at him, but the thought of going up against humans again had my stomach in knots. Almost everything else we had encountered in our trek to Concord and back had been either non-human or a clear case of defense. This was calculated killing, one step away from murder. I tried to square my conscience with the thought that the settlers were technically in danger from the raiders as soon as they were discovered. I wasn't sure how much it helped.  
MacCready and I made our way quietly along the indicated street, looking for vantage points. We hunted around for scaffolding or an intact enough fire escape to allow us to get a bird's eye view of the proposed settlement. From the ground, all I could see was a line of wooden walls, no help to our scouting efforts.  
Going one street over gave us a way up. MacCready was able to scramble up the mess of tumbled bricks and jutting floor supports like a squirrel. I however, being a bit shorter and not as used to parkour-style climbing to reach sniper's nests, had to get help from my amused companion. “You're soft, Boss.” he teased as he hauled me up one final time by my arm to stand on the roof. “Sitting in a nice clean room, playing music...”  
“Shush, you.” I admonished. “I'm out of shape, yes, but spending all this time traipsing around the Commonwealth with a indefatigable mercenary is building muscles I didn't even know I had. Now let's take a look at what we're up against.”  
Once I laid eyes on the location from above, though, a plan formed in my mind. The raiders were camped in a small cul-de-sac. The walls were nothing more than simple wooden barriers, no reinforcement at all on the inside. Two static guards stood on either side of the single door on platforms overlooking the street. It was a reasonably easy matter to snipe the guards, toss a hastily daisy-chained line of grenades into the group keeping warm by the makeshift fire near the entrance, and pick off the survivors as they ran for safety out the door.  
Once the massacre had been completed, we retraced our route to ensure the area was secure. The raiders had a fair number of useful items stashed in and about the small shelters inside the cul-de-sac. We were able to fill our packs with loot and leave a good selection for the prospective settlers, in the name of the Minutemen of course. I even replaced some of my battered combat gear with improved pieces from our scrounging. We returned to the grateful settlers, who immediately picked up and went to claim their new territory. The headman who had spoken to us before promised his support of the Minutemen, planning to set up a regular provisioning line between themselves and Sanctuary. All the more reason to clear out as much of the Commonwealth as we can, to keep people safe.  
Loaded down with our heavy packs, we hurried the rest of the way back to Diamond City. As we strode along, it hit me that I had actually performed a combat mission without vomiting or passing out in horror. The thought occupied me as I examined my growing ease with Wasteland life. Things were more black and white, more red with blood than back home. Raiders are bad, settlers are good. And yet there were shades of gray mixed in- Synths like Nick Valentine versus the Synths at ArcJet. The Brotherhood of Steel with a mission to take down monsters like Super mutants and feral ghouls, but hoarding technology for their own reasons. Towns like Goodneighbor who welcome misfits, but deal “justice” with lethal swiftness.  
And then there was the man I walked next to, my example of how to survive; a man who killed without hesitation, for payment, but willingly pitched in to help a family move into their new house. He was bristly and aloof, but sensitive and intelligently observant. I would never have survived without his help and guidance, and was beginning to realize just how important he was to me- as a hired gun, combat partner, survival teacher, Wasteland ethics guide, snarky comic relief, and most importantly, a friend.


	26. Chapter 26

“We're taking the day off,” I announced the next morning, before I even rolled out of bed in the Dugout Inn. “It's cold out there, I'm sore, and my clothes are filthy.”

“MacCready yawned himself awake from the couch. “Fine by me, Boss. We could use a day to recover and double-check our equipment. Diamond City has a couple of decent shops where we can stock up on essentials as well.”

“And,” I picked up the narrative, “we can let Valentine know we're back in case he has anything for us.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

After learning how I cleaned our clothes in the shower the last time we were here, MacCready merely nodded at my inventiveness and shoved another small bundle of clothes at me. “You get these and I'll clean our weapons if you leave yours out.” He grinned at my enthusiasm of the promise of a long, hot shower. “Take your time, I can barter our loot and pick up supplies, too.”

“Deal.”

The shower was amazing after so many days on the road with nothing more than a quick wipe down with a cold soapy cloth and a hasty brushing of teeth. I hoped the Dugout Inn had plenty of hot water as I let the spray wash my aches and bruises into submission. The laser burn on my leg was healing slowly and would probably leave a scar. I couldn't see my ribs where MacCready had dug out the bullet, but I could feel a patchy ridge of tissue there. _The Commonwealth is certainly leaving its mark. If ever I needed proof this was real, the scars tell the truth._

After too long, yet not feeling it was quite long enough, I finally stepped out of the shower to dry off and dress into my spare clothes. MacCready was in the room when I exited, just finishing up wiping down his sniper rifle. A new pile of supplies sat in the corner, and I nodded my approval. “Thanks, Mac.”

“No problem, Sarge.” he jabbed back. “Why don't you stop by Valentine's and grab some noodles from Takahashi for both of us? I'll join you as soon as I'm finished here.”

“Sounds good.” Shrugging on my jacket, I strapped my laser pistol to my leg and left the room.

At Valentine's, Ellie greeted my entrance with a welcoming smile, waving me in with a “Nick's in the back.”

“Hey there, kid,” was the cordial greeting from the detective himself. “Heard you two were back in town. Word around the Commonwealth is the Minutemen are back, helping settlers, and looking for members. Sounds like you got up there to help them out in the nick of time. Good job.”

“Wow, word travels fast!” I was impressed. We hadn't been gone all that long, had we? _The days start to blur together without a calendar to keep track._

“It travels faster when you know where to listen,” he replied slyly. “But all that aside, were they able to help you?”

I shook my head. “No, but not for lack of trying. Sturges tried everything he could think of, but he's more of a mechanic, not a scientist.” At Nick's sympathetic grimace, I added, “but we did bump into a group that MacCready tells me knows a lot more about technology. You know anything about the 'Brotherhood of Steel'?”

Nick sat up straight, giving me his undivided attention at that. “You ran into the Brotherhood of Steel in the Commonwealth? Yeah, I know a bit about them. They ain't too fond of my type, and they're fanatics about technology.” He tapped his metal fingers on the desk. “Your churlish mercenary is right, though. They do have a wealth of their own scientific advancements. I just hope they're not here to start a war,” he said quietly, half to himself. “If you deal with them,” he warned, “be very, very careful. The Brotherhood has more than their fair share of fanatics, but there are the occasional individuals who can be trusted to keep their word.”

“Thanks, Nick. At this rate, I'll deal with _anyone_ who might have answers. I'll be careful, I promise.” Looking at the scattered folders on his desk, I asked, “Got any new leads for me?”

“'Fraid not, kiddo,” he answered glumly. “Not many high-level scientists outside the Institute, I'm afraid. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and I'll let you know if anything comes across my desk.”

“Sounds like the best plan we have.” We shook hands and I left his office, a little dejected at the lack of leads.

I took my time perusing some of the few shops on the way back, waiting for MacCready to appear, but he was taking longer than I thought. Shrugging to myself at the delay, I picked up some more soap, and even a small sewing kit this time around. Bullet holes might look intimidating, but they were damn cold when the wind blew.

Having stalled as much as I cared to in the chilly air, I took the chance that Takahashi did take-out (he did, or at least he didn't stop me from taking the bowls with me) and hurried back to the Dugout Inn main room with our meal. If MacCready was on his way out, I could intercept him and save him the trip. Vadim allowed me to set up our meal on the bar as long as the drinks came from him. My companion still hadn't appeared, and the noodles were cooling, so I tucked in.

A flash of movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention as I glimpsed a casually dressed man go to sit down where I had set the second bowl of noodles and beer. I turned swiftly to stop him, then stopped and stared in complete surprise.

“Is this seat taken?” It was MacCready, but he was... clean. His hair was still slightly damp, and he was wearing a long-sleeved brown checkered shirt over a white tank top and a faded pair of jeans. He grinned at the look on my face and I hastily turned back to my noodles, trying to hide the flush that burned my cheeks. I had to peek back just to make sure it really was my companion. He was looking at me, an almost playful smirk crossing his lips as he pulled the bowl of noodles closer. “Surprised, Boss?”

 _Damn, he cleans up nice._ “I-uh,” I stammered, still feeling the blush across my cheeks. “I thought you hated getting wet.” I looked him up and down. Without his leather duster, he looked even more lean and wiry, all angles and sharp planes. Dangerous, and attractive.

He chuckled, taking a pull of his beer. “Usually, I do. But after seeing you in complete scrubbed bliss after your shower, I figured I'd give it a try. Picked up these spares when I traded for our haul.” He indicated his outfit.

“And how was it?”

“Not bad, not bad,” he bantered. “I could get used to it. You're teaching me to be civilized, Boss.” He tapped his lips with the ends of the chopsticks. “I have to admit, my teeth don't hurt as much anymore, once I started using the toothbrush you gave me in that kit.”

“That's good to hear. I'm glad I can help you out, even in something as minor as laundry.” I patted my jacket for the sewing kit. “Speaking of that, what happened to your, ahhhm, usual outfit? I got some needles and thread and can fix the rips and tears from our latest adventures.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “You sew, too?” At my nod, he declared, “Boss, you are a domestic miracle.” He snickered into his noodles when I rolled my eyes at him. “My 'usual outfit' as you call it is currently hanging up to dry along with the rest of the stuff. I tried your trick of showering clothed to start and I think it worked.”

I tried very hard not to picture it. The noodles needed to be eaten, so I slurped up another bite. “You _think_ it worked?”“It took a while for the water to run clear. There was a _lot_ of mud.”

Vadim overheard us talking and came over to chat. “Good thing we have so much hot water for our guests! The Dugout Inn is _best_ place to stay in the Commonwealth!”

We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening at the bar, chatting with Vadim, exchanging gossip, and enjoying our day of rest. Most of the gossip went completely over my head, but MacCready seemed to have a reasonable passing knowledge of the topics under discussion. Vadim kept the drinks flowing, but at a more sedate pace than our last visit. MacCready and I traded tales with him and his brother Yefim. Trying to keep my history as vague as possible, I nevertheless was able to tell some stories from my Army days, and even adapt the occasional instrument repair tale, revising it to fit the Wasteland environment.

As the evening wore on, more and more local residents entered the bar. It was at this point that the crowd started to get to me. Once I reached my socialization cap for the night, I nudged my companion and let him know I was going back to the room. He nodded, tossed some caps on the bar to pay for our last round, and we made our way back to the quiet sanctuary of our room. I wasn't expecting him to follow me, but was glad for the company.


	27. Duncan

Once we closed the door to the room, I plopped down on the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me and laying my head back across the cushions. “Whew! Vadim is a character, isn't he?” I said to MacCready. He didn't reply, and took a seat on the other end of the couch gingerly. His earlier relaxed mood had shifted and he looked almost unsure of himself. “What's up? Are you okay?” I asked him, sitting up straight.

“Hey Boss,” he began tentatively, “got a moment to talk?” He spoke quietly, sitting very stiffly and bolt upright, hands clenched over his legs, looking like he was steeling himself to say something.

“Of course. What's on your mind?”

“I, ah...” he paused clenching and unclenching his fingers in a nervous gesture. Fidgeting, he looked around the room, scanning the walls, the low table, the bed, everything, as if looking for the right words to be lying there for him to read and not have to think about it. “I just wanted to say... to ask... ah, fuc-- I mean, damn it. Never mind.” He stared angrily at his hands.

Hearing him stop himself mid-syllable from cursing yet again, I figured now was as good a time to ask as any. _Maybe I can ease the conversation around into whatever he wanted to say._ “Okay, I just have to ask- why do you keep stopping yourself from cursing? You're not going to offend me, you know.”

His slight smile at the change of subject was genuine, and he had relaxed a little, but still sat upright. Seizing on the topic like a lifeline, he answered in a more normal voice. “Heh, I figured you'd ask me about that sooner or later. It's not about you; it's about a promise I made to my son, Duncan, when I left the Capital Wasteland. I promised to clean up my act and to be a better person. Cursing was the most obvious thing I could think of to start. I guess that sounds pretty stupid coming from a guy who shoots people for a living.”

“Not really. Any start is a good one with the right intentions behind it.” I reassured him. “Where is your son now?” I asked, curious. _Duncan can't be more than a toddler. If MacCready's wife passed away, who's taking care of him?_

“He's with his grandparents, Lucy's parents, back in the Capital Wasteland.” MacCready's shoulders slumped slightly and he stared at his clenched fists. “We were on our way to visit them after Duncan was born when it... when it happened.” He took a shuddering breath, then calmed himself and continued in an emotionless voice. “We made the mistake of holing up in a metro station one night. We didn't know that the place was infested with ferals. They were on her before I could even fire a shot. Ripped her apart right in front of me.” A shuddering breath, and a moment of silence. “There was nothing I could do. Took everything I had to escape with Duncan in my arms.” He stared straight ahead, the words almost coming out on their own in a unstoppable thread of heartbreaking memories.

“When I finally arrived at her parents' homestead, they reluctantly took us in. That is to say, they reluctantly took _me_ in; they adored Duncan. I lived there for a while, but it was strained. When Lucy died, they no longer saw me as a relative, just the dumb kid who got their daughter killed bringing their grandson home. They never wanted us to get married in the first place, and they blamed me for Lucy's death. I'm not entirely sure they were wrong, either.” He pounded his fist into this thigh angrily. “It was _my_ stupid decision to use that metro station. Maybe it would have been better if we'd died there with her.”

“No.” I reached out and placed my hand over his. “It was an accident, a tragic, horrible accident, but it wasn't your fault.” I gave his hand a small squeeze. _He blames himself, maybe he needs to hear this from an outsider._ Not entirely sure it would help, I tried. “You may have lost your wife, but you saved your son. That counts for something.”

He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Maybe. I don't know anymore.” His voice was somber. “Not like it helped.”

“What do you mean?”

“My son... he's sick. I don't know what's wrong with him. All I know is that it's some sort of disease and it's eating him away from the inside. One day, he's playing out in the fields behind the farm... the next he took a fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. Last I saw he was almost too weak to walk.” He angrily dabbed at his eyes. “Honestly, I don't know how much longer he's going to last.” His voice broke on the last word.

“Are there any doctors down there you could've taken him to?” I suggested quietly.

His response was immediate and sharp, pulling his hand away to gesture wildly. “Every doctor I've talked to was worthless! They never even _heard_ of the disease!” He slumped again, head in hands, his voice a low desperate whisper, pleading. “I don't need them... I need someone like you.”

My heart fluttered a bit at those words. “What can I do? If you need my help, I'm there.”

“You've already helped me with the Gunners, I feel horrible asking for more.” he admitted bitterly. “At this rate you're going to own my contract for life.”

I shook my head at him. “Just until I get home,” I corrected. _Having a bodyguard for life? I could live with that._ The thought popped into my head rebelliously. “Besides which, MacCready, we're friends. Whatever you need, count me in.”

He laughed, a harsh sound threaded with genuine relief. “I was hoping you'd say that.” He took a deep, bracing breath, turning to face me, speaking quickly and intensely. “All right, here's what I know. A few months ago, I bumped into a guy named Sinclair who claimed his buddy caught some kind of a disease. He even mentioned the fever and blue boils like Duncan has. They dug up information about a cure at a place called Med-Tek Research, and even managed to grab the building's lockdown security codes.”

He spoke quietly, as if to convince himself. “I mean, there's no way that's a coincidence, right? Med-Tek has to be the place. But Sinclair's buddy died before we managed to break in, and he gave up. All I have left is that lead and the codes. It's too dangerous to go alone, the place is crawling with feral Ghouls.” That last admission came out in a reluctant voice and he trailed off sadly.

“We took out the Gunners, and helped Danse find that transmitter. If there's a cure, we'll find it.” I said, hopefully with conviction. _Between the two of us, I think we can probably handle a locked down building infested with ferals... I hope. He's done so much for me, it's the least I can do to help._ “Don't give up hope.”

He gave me a grateful look. “Thanks... partner. I'll show you where it is on your map. We can go whenever you're ready. And... and thank you for caring.”

“Get a good night's sleep, MacCready. We'll head out first thing in the morning.”


	28. Med-Tek

_Maybe taking the direct route through Boston wasn't the best idea._ Med-Tek was located a fair distance to the northeast from Diamond City, and I was following the location marker in as straight a line as I could manage. MacCready was crouched behind me as we peered into the historical square. Two enormous green-skinned humanoids patrolled back and forth, accompanied by a giant hairless creature that could possibly be called a dog. This was the first time I had laid eyes on Super Mutants, and I was absolutely terrified. I hoped MacCready had a strategy for dealing with them. “Your thoughts?” I murmured to my companion.

“I've seen a Super Mutant rip the limbs off of someone while they're still alive. Never going to get that image out of my head.” he mused quietly.

“That's _not_ helping,” I shuddered.

“Sorry, Boss.” He grinned nervously. “With Super Mutants, there is no such thing as 'overkill.' Shoot them, and keep shooting. They're tough fuc-- ermm, they're tough.” He settled into a firing position, bringing up his sniper rifle. “Let me know when you're ready.”

I checked my own shotgun, inching around for a better view of the square. Once I had located what I thought was the most likely avenue of approach for the Super Mutants, I nodded briskly to MacCready. “Let's get this over with.”

_Crack!_

The Super Mutant barely slowed at the shot to the side of his head, roaring in anger and stomping around furiously in search of his assailant. Their hound howled, an eerie yet deafening keen.

_Crack!_

A second deadly sniper shot tore through the Super Mutant's skull, scattering bone and brain, finally dropping the green monster. The second Super Mutant had spied us, however, and came charging towards our position, giant dog a few steps behind, with a rocket-assisted sledgehammer swinging madly. “Gonna splatter your brains!” it screamed in a harsh, guttural voice.

Invoking my V.A.T.S. assistance, I targeted its leg, firing once... twice... a third time, before the limb finally shattered from the shotgun shells and it went down with a screech of anger. The mutant hound leapt over its master, jaws gaping as it rushed us. MacCready was focused, targeting the downed Super Mutant, and I hastily darted out of cover to distract the enormous animal. It hesitated for only a split second before giving chase.

I tried to swing my shotgun around to fire, but the dog was faster on its feet than I had anticipated. All I managed to do was clock it in the head with the muzzle of the gun as it tackled me. Immense jaws crushed down on my hastily raised arm, crunching my armor and piercing the skin beneath. A pained scream was torn from my lips as I batted at its face with my shotgun, trying to wrench free. It growled and snapped at the gun, letting go of my arm. Painfully, I tried to maneuver the weapon under its head.

A shot fired out, catching the hound on its shoulder. It howled again, terrifyingly loud in my ears, and wrenched its head to the side. With that brief moment of distraction, I focused again, forcing my Pip-Boy to assist my aim.

_Blam!_

The hound screeched in pain, its neck blasted clean through, blood pouring out to cover me, hot and caustic. My Pip-Boy crackled frantically as I scrambled free, kicking free of the staggering form. One last shot from MacCready finished it off and it collapsed onto the square, dead. I stumbled back to our hiding spot and a furious sniper.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, face white with anger. “Going racing off like that?”

My stomach was fluttering violently in reaction to the close call. “I couldn't let it get to you.” I gasped, cradling my injured arm. Swallowing thickly, I grabbed a stimpak, steeling myself to stab it into my arm. _I hate needles._

“Here, let me.” MacCready took the stimpak from my hand, swiftly jabbing it into my upper arm. “Save the heroics, will ya? I'm the one supposed to be soaking up damage; I'm more used to it.” He still sounded angry, but the frightened look on his face betrayed part of his true emotions. _Huh, and he also needs my help to get the cure for his son._ “Now let's get _out_ of here before the rest of them inside the building realize what's going on.”

We made our winding way across the city to the north and east, sneaking or hiding as soon as either of us even thought we heard something, not wanting to risk a confrontation or any more delays. Med-Tek wasn't a long trek by straight-line distance, but our slowed pace and the need to circumvent dangerous areas took more time than we had planned. MacCready was impatient at the time it was taking to cross Boston; with the prospect of actually getting the cure for his son, he was driven like a man possessed. It was nearing dusk by the time we reached the outskirts of the laboratory, walking carefully up the road that ran past the facility.

“There it is,” MacCready announced. “We're so close.” He strode ahead, leading us off to the side behind an old bus stop shelter. I followed gratefully, my stomach still roiling nervously, legs trembling from fatigue. Hidden by the old shelter, MacCready dug though his pack to hand me a can of purified water and another of the ever useful pre-war food boxes. “Here.” He took another for himself, settling down with his back to the wall. “I don't like to travel at night,” he explained, eating the hasty meal, “but if we can hit the facility now, we have a better chance to catch the ferals sleeping.”

“Sure.” I agreed. I sipped the water, hoping it would calm my stomach. The food was completely tasteless, and I attempted to eat as much as I could to try and restore some energy. It did not sit well and, as soon as MacCready moved around to the front of the bus stop to scan for hostiles, it all came back up again. Staggering a bit, stomach still roiling, I slowly rejoined my companion as he finished sweeping the area with his scope. “See anything?”

“Ferals.” came the reply. “You ready for this?”

I swallowed convulsively. “Let's go save your son.”

Getting into the building wasn't as difficult as I had feared. Using the trick from the alley, we lured the ferals to an old car, then MacCready tossed a grenade into it as we scurried away and into cover. The resulting blast rocked the area, lighting up the sky with a cascade of irradiated fire, and my Pip-Boy crackled in response. My companion whooped with glee at the success, grabbing my arm to practically haul me off my feet in his eagerness to reach the front door. I stumbled after him, trying to keep up.

At the door, my assisted lockpicking skills came in handy and we were soon inside. This building looked much like ArcJet Systems, all crumbling walls and tumbled furniture, creating a maze of rubble we had to traverse. We took a moment to get our bearings, then MacCready strode forward determinedly, “All right, let's find that executive terminal. It should be on the top floor. Sinclair said that's the only way we can override the facility's lockdown.”

There was an elevator off to the side of the lobby, but it was broken. “Stairs it is,” I sighed tiredly. _At least this building doesn't look to be more than a few stories tall._

Entering the hallway, we were met with our first wave of ferals. Lying sprawled on the floor, I had mistaken them for pre-war casualties until they started moving. MacCready's angry shout brought my wandering attention back to the imminent danger and we rapidly dispatched the prone forms before they could do more than stagger to their feet. “Next lesson: stay down, stay quiet.” he advised me, “get 'em before they can stand up and they're dead easy to kill.”

Between the sniper's heightened perception and our quiet creeping towards the topmost floor, we were able to dispatch the ferals with few incidents. One did manage to charge from a side hallway, its vicious swipe deflected from taking out my eye by MacCready's swift reaction as he pivoted around to take the blow on his own shoulder. Belatedly, I swung my own gun around to blast its head. “Come on, Boss,” he hissed at me, rolling his shoulder to test it, “don't lose focus now.”

“Sorry,” I replied, my innards doing flip-flops. I swallowed again nervously. “Let's go.”

The executive office opened to the touch of my lockpicking skill and we hastily closed the door behind us. It too had suffered extensive damage, an entire section of the floor was missing, collapsed onto the cubicles below. MacCready strode quickly to the desk, his voice intense. “Check the terminal on the desk over there. Sinclair's passcode better work, or we're screwed.” He handed me a scrap of paper with a single line of scrawled lettering.

Inserting the Pip-Boy's computer interface, I was able to coax the terminal to the lock screen. Mentally crossing my fingers, I typed out the code to unlock the security defenses. The computer seemed to take forever, but finally I let out a small cheer as the command to unlock the sub-level access point scrolled across the screen. “It worked, Mac!”

MacCready darted back to peer over my shoulder, one hand bracing himself lightly on my back. “It worked?” he asked, in disbelief. “It worked!” he exulted, practically jumping up and down in delight. “Let's find our way down to the Sub-Level. That's where Med-Tek should be storing the cure.” Without waiting for me to reply, he dashed out the door.

Fortunately, we had already cleared the way to the lobby. I found MacCready making his careful way towards the back access hallway, two more feral Ghouls slumped against the walls, still oozing blood. “Why did you need my help again?” I asked him, eyeing the freshly dispatched bodies.

He rolled his eyes. “There were only two this time.” Reaching the glass-enclosed access point, the doors hissed open at our approach. We paused before entering the short hallway lined with long-defunct decontamination arches. “All right. Keep your eyes peeled, we don't know what's down there.” MacCready raised his rifle and we carefully crept into the newly-opened sub-level laboratories.


	29. The Cure

“I wonder what kind of sick experiments Med-Tek was doing in here.” he commented as we entered the first of the laboratories.

Whatever Med-Tek had been up to before the war, the lower, hidden rooms told a grim tale. Several tiny cells held trapped feral Ghouls, frantically clawing at the observation windows as soon as they perceived our presence. I was nearly sick at the thought of a company holding people like that, in a tiny bare room, no privacy, no way to escape, performing who-knows-what kind of experiments.

MacCready was in agreement. “I wouldn't be surprised if Med-Tek leaked whatever disease my son has on purpose... just to drive up demand for the cure,” he remarked angrily.

With no other real recourse, we decided to hack the terminals that kept the doors locked, and eliminate the trapped ferals. It felt almost like murder, even if the ferals were less than mindless, suffering in a tiny cell. I swallowed my growing nausea and kept going.

MacCready had already moved on to the next room. “That cure better be here, it's the only chance Duncan has left.” He was growing desperate, and when the next room along proved to be infested with ferals, he viciously slung his rifle across his shoulder, flinging several grenades into the room before resealing the door against the resulting explosions.

“You do realize the shrapnel might damage any equipment in the room, right?” I reminded him as we waited for the smoke to clear, making sure there were no remaining ferals. “Including the cure?”

“Damn it,” he sighed angrily. “You're right.” He tugged at his cap in frustration. “See, _this_ is why I need you along, Boss.” Standing up, he brought his rifle back around. “All right, let's keep going.” Fortunately, the room wasn't a lab, but a central space leading to a series of smaller experiment rooms. We went room by room, taking our time to examine the equipment, with no success.

In the very last room, tucked away behind another locked door, we were greeted by one last feral Ghoul. This one, unlike the rest in the facility, was wearing an old tattered lab coat and glowing brightly green. The significance was lost on me, but MacCready reacted instantly.

“Glowing One! Move!” he shouted, pushing us to shelter behind a hefty workbench. We peered up at it from across the counter. MacCready had quickly dug into his pockets and shoved a tablet in his mouth, practically throwing a second one at me without looking. The tiny white pill slipped from my fingers and I let it go skittering across the floor, choosing instead to brace my shotgun across the counter in tandem with MacCready's sniper rifle.

_Blam!_

The feral stood still, slowly raising its arms, seemingly unaffected by my shot. As soon as it reached full extension, a bright flash emanated from it, and a wave of nausea knocked me back behind the counter to the crackling static of my Pip-Boy. _What the hell did it just do?_

_Crack! Crack! Crack!_

MacCready fired relentlessly as I tried to recover, dry heaving. Grabbing the edge of the counter, I levered myself upright just as the last round in the sniper's magazine dispatched the glowing Ghoul. It fell without a sound, crumpling in place, still illuminated. Almost before it finished falling, my companion had darted from behind the counter to grab its lab coat and drag the body as far into the back corner as he could. Returning, he explained while reloading, “Glowing Ones are the worst. They absorbed enough radiation that they can blast it out like a weapon. Good thing we had the Rad-X, huh Boss?”

I stood up, shaky and nauseated. _Is that what that was? Oops._ “Uh, sure.” I managed through clenched teeth. Forcing a semblance of my normal energy, I looked about the large space filled with multiple science stations. “Let's give this one a good going-over. It's the last room.” MacCready was only too happy to oblige.

We each took one side of the room, searching diligently. About halfway down the line of stations, I found a small container lying out in the middle of a chemistry bench. There was one word inscribed on the side: Prevent. I picked it up gingerly, bringing it to my companion. “Is this it?”

MacCready dropped what he had been holding, taking the small red dispenser in his suddenly trembling hands. He read the label, looked up at me, then back at the cylinder. His voice broke as he exclaimed, “We did it... holy crap, we actually did it! We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live.” He dashed tears from his eyes, grasping the experimental cure in his fist. In a sudden move, he wrapped his arms around me in a brief but enthusiastic hug, before releasing me to careen around the room in an overabundance of happiness. Still feeling drained and nauseated, I leaned against the nearest counter, watching his antics with a smile on my face and a flutter in my chest.

He soon wound down and came over to start the slow walk back with me, declaring fervently, “I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back for this... I owe you big time,”

I sighed, “You don't owe me, MacCready. This is a friendship, not a business contract.” _At least, I hope so._ My steps slowed as my odd fatigue rose. _C'mon, gotta get out of here._

He sounded startled. “I- I guess you're right. A business partner would never have done this, not for me.” A smile twitched his mouth, “Keeping things 'even' is the only way I have to keep score. I've always been better at taking than giving. Maybe one day I'll learn to get my priorities straight.” He stepped in front of me to give me a candid look. “You think I've been teaching you? You've been teaching me too, Boss, even if I'm not the best student.” His smile returned.

I managed a weak smile back through my nausea, just as my legs gave out. I sank to the floor of the first laboratory room, my energy depleted.

“Whoa, Boss! What happened?” A calloused hand reached under my chin to raise my head, piercing blue eyes staring intently at me. “Hey, you okay?”

I shook my head as a wave of nausea hit. Pulling away from MacCready, I crumpled to the floor, dry heaving again. The cramping of my stomach forced a groan from me as I curled up weakly on the cold dirty tiles, unable to move.

“Damn it, why didn't you say something?” MacCready's voice was angry again as he firmly pulled my left arm up towards him, flicking the selection switch on my Pip-Boy. “Geez, Boss! Didn't you take the Rad-X?” He tugged me partially upright, showing me the rarely used STAT screen. The bar in the lower left was almost half red, and an icon of a nuclear symbol with a line of accompanying text had appeared in the top left of the screen: Rads. “Looks like this has been building up for a while. You haven't been keeping track?”

I stared at the screen, at the accusatory red line. _How did it get so bad?_ I shook my head slightly, not answering.

“That's it, we're not going any further tonight.” MacCready let go of me to stand up and survey the room we were in. He stalked off, muttering almost to himself, “way too late to travel anyway, I guess.” He took a few minutes to rearrange some of the furniture, based off the scraping noises that bounced around the hard walls. Some grunts of effort reached my ears as I lay there, trying to keep from heaving, miserable at the delay I caused. The access doors hissed closed, securing the room from any outside intrusion.

A few moments later, MacCready returned to crouch beside me. “All right, Boss. Do you think you can stand up?” The anger had faded, replaced with concern. He reached to grab under my arms, helping me up. As soon as my feet were somewhat under me, he shifted to pull my arm across his shoulders, supporting me easily with his other arm around my waist. “Okay, here we go.”

We made our unsteady way to the narrow access hall between two of the small cells. The cell doors were closed and locked, former occupants stuffed inside. Both beds had been shoved together between the cells, barely fitting sideways in the snug space. MacCready shifted again, arranging me in a mostly upright seated position, leaning heavily against the rails of the headboard. He crawled onto the bed, reaching for my pack and digging into the side pocket. “Aha.” Bringing his find back around, he settled down, one leg cocked up on the mattress in order to face me. “Remember this?” he asked, showing me the Rad-Away IV bag from the first night.

“I think so.” I admitted, slowly. “It gets rid of radiation, right?”

He nodded, pulling the needle free from the bag and gesturing for my arm. “Uh-huh,” he confirmed, tapping at the crook of my elbow to raise a vein. “And it's as much a lifesaver as a stimpak, if not used as often.” He grimaced. “A reminder lesson for you: this stuff'll fix you right up, but at a cost. Better to anticipate and take a Rad-X.” The needle went in smoothly, “Nice veins, by the way.”

“I- I dropped the tablet.” I said, unwillingly. “I was already so shaky...” A small sob escaped my lips. “I'm so sorry.”

“Huh? Why?” There was genuine confusion on his face as he sat back to look at me.

“I was trying to keep moving, keep going... long enough to get back.” The Rad-Away burned in my veins, and I closed my eyes against the additional sting of tears. “You need to get that cure to your son.”

MacCready blinked a couple of times, eyes bright, looking at me with an intense, contemplative gaze. He reached up to attach the bag to the wall over my head. “Just lean back and let that work,” he encouraged, not addressing my concern. “Actually, here.” I squeaked in surprise as he stood up, lifting me by my legs and shoulders to push me across to the second bed tucked tight against the wall. Once I had curled up on my side to face the wall, he settled himself on the first bed to lounge against the headboard next to me, hands behind his head.

“Like I told you before, I hate traveling at night.” he began in a smooth voice. “It's almost midnight, and it would be nearly suicidal to try and head back now.” One hand reached out to pat my shoulder comfortingly. “This was the reality check I needed to stop me from getting us killed trying to navigate Boston in the dark.” He sighed. “The cure won't do Duncan any good if it doesn't get to him.”

I reached up to squeeze the fingers patting my shoulder gratefully. “Thanks, MacCready.” The Rad-Away still burned in my veins, and I was rapidly losing my battle with the overwhelming fatigue brought on by the medicine. I fell asleep with my fingers still grasping his.


	30. Complications

I woke up slowly, feeling much better after the Rad-Away treatment and a good sleep. I was alone on the bed, yet oddly warm in the slightly chill room until I realized that MacCready had tucked his duster around me as I slept. I took a moment to curl up tighter under the tattered coat, hugging the scarred leather closer to me and just appreciating the thoughtful gesture behind its presence. That unspoken consideration for my comfort made me realize how much I really liked having him around. _Face it, you're going to miss him when he goes back_ , came the thought floating up from my subconscious.

Suddenly, I didn't feel quite so good. _That's right_ , I thought sadly, _he's going to deliver the cure to his son in D.C. It's the only reason he was up here in the first place._ My chest contracted, and I sat up, hugging the duster tightly. Taking a deep breath, I viciously clamped down on my emotions. _He's going to leave, and you're going to deal with it, like everything else that's happened so far._

_But I... I care for him. Quite a lot, actually._

_Don't even have the courage to go it alone after all you've learned? Coward._

"I _am_ a coward," I whispered miserably to myself, hugging the leather to my cheek, "I _have_ to get home." A few quiet breaths and I took a moment to drink down a purified water before steeling myself to find MacCready. _He's still my friend, and I'll be dammed if I ruin his happiness by moping. God, I'm going to miss him, though._ Grabbing my pack and folding his jacket over my arm, I left the room.

The doors leading out to the main facility were open, and I followed them up and out to find MacCready sitting at the secretary's desk in the lobby, writing. He had scrounged up a notepad and pen from somewhere and was obviously deep in thought. Several scattered balls of crumpled paper lay tossed around, mute evidence of multiple attempts to write. He had just finished, folding the paper in front of him into a neat square when I approached, wordlessly handing him his duster. His face lit up in a smile when he saw me, and I answered it as best I could.

"Good morning, Boss." Shrugging into his coat, he tucked the paper in a pocket and shouldered his sniper rifle which had been propped up next to him against the desk. "Feeling better? Ready to move out?"

"Morning, Mac," I managed in a mostly normal voice. "Let's get going, shall we?" Stuffing my feelings deep, deep down inside, I followed him out the main doors.

We left MedTek, heading for Goodneighbor this time. As we walked along, MacCready explained the route back and why we were headed that way while I merely listened, trying to remember everything about this journey; the last time I'd see him before he went home. He was so happy to have found the cure that he didn't even seem to notice my reticence.

"Anyway," he was saying, "the last step ahead of us is getting the cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor. With her caravan contacts, she's the only one I trust to get this to Duncan on time."

I nodded, quietly walking along, barely paying attention to our surroundings. Clearing my throat, I decided to twist the knife a little in some masochistic desire to try and numb myself to the eventuality of having to go it alone. "I suppose you'll hire on as a caravan guard on the way down to save the caps, then?"

MacCready glanced over at me in confusion. "Caravan guard? What are you talking about?"

Hastily, I backtracked, not wanting to offend him. "Or maybe just enjoy the journey as a paying customer?" My voice trembled a little, despite my best efforts to keep it even and neutral. "I mean, we've been collecting a pretty good haul of caps lately." I looked at the buildings, the road ahead, the piles of rubble scattered about, anywhere but at my companion. My misery rose up into my throat despite my best efforts to keep it locked away.

A hand grabbed my jacket, pulling me to a stop. Slowly I turned to face MacCready. He was looking at me with a strange, unreadable expression on his face, letting go of my coat. "Boss," he asked quietly, "what's this about? Are you afraid I'm going to leave?" Those glorious crystal blue eyes searched my face, puzzled.

"Of course you're going to leave!" I insisted, failing to keep my voice even as I had intended. "You have to bring the cure to your son!" Holding back my own fear of being left alone, I lowered my voice to force a more pleasant tone. _I am not going to ruin this for him._ "I hope you have a good journey, and get home in record time. Give Duncan a hug for me." My smile was genuine at least, even as my voice sounded odd in my ears.

In sheer surprise he nearly laughed, but once he realized that I was completely serious, upset, and scared, he instead led us over to the side of the road to clear up the obvious, to him, misunderstanding. We sat down on a concrete barrier. "I'm not leaving." Three words again, that changed my life, this time lifting my spirits, soothing my rising panic. _He's not leaving me!_ "First, and foremost, Boss, I have a contract with you. I was hired to protect you until you got home, and last time I checked, you're not there." He leaned forward to emphasize his point. "I told you before, I _don't_ break my contracts."

"Second..." and here he trailed off, staring off into the distance as if trying to see his son through the miles separating them. "Second, I _can't_ go back. Not now, anyway. ...not ever." He stared at the ground, a frown creasing his brow. "When Duncan got sick and I insisted on leaving to find the cure, Lucy's parents told me that I was as good as abandoning him." His voice lost all its normal vibrancy, and I lightly leaned against his shoulder, offering what comfort I could. He leaned back.

"They told me it was a wild goose chase and if, by some undeserved miracle, I ever found it, to just send it to them and never come back. They were _his_ family, not mine." The bitterness in his voice mellowed a little at his next words, as if lancing a boil to let it heal. "I miss Duncan with all my heart, but I _know_ he's better off with a stable life, and a family who loves him."

"I'm so sorry, MacCready," I murmured as gently as I could when he wound down. Seeing him so hurt, so heartbroken at the impossible decision he had to make tore at my heart, and yet... and yet the selfish, scared, lost part of my soul was pathetically glad he was staying. _I wish there was a perfect solution, but there isn't_. "That's so unfair."

"Since when does 'fair' mean anything?" he retorted, snapping in delayed anger. "Damn it, Boss, I'm sorry." He reached out to throw his arm around my shoulder in a quick one-armed hug. "I don't know how you do it, but I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I trust you more than anyone else. Only Daisy knows about this, aside from you."

His words echoed in the depths of my mind. _I trust you_. A rush of affection bloomed in my heart at those words. "I think we needed to clear the air, and not let a misunderstanding come between us, especially when it was my fault." I spoke carefully, "Thank you, Mac, I'm glad you told me."

"I..." he broke off, looking away. Taking a deep breath, he met my gaze and continued. "I just want to... well, let you know much I appreciate how you've been treating me. Most people who hire my services only pay for a day or two, tops. I'm the sniper who goes out, does the hit, collects the caps, and is cut loose. No one kept me around for long, and I could never rely on anyone to have my back if something went wrong. I was the expendable gun, the anonymous hire meant to soak up bullets. But you," he paused to take a bracing breath, a grin teasing his lips, "you're different. You have my back. You ask my opinion and value my expertise. You treat me like a partner. That means a lot. I can honestly say you've been the best fuc—err, best damn boss I've ever run with."

His words took me by complete surprise. "Thank _you_ , MacCready. You are the absolute best person I can think of to help me out here. You're talented, sharp, and you know how to survive. Even better, you're able to teach _me_ how to survive, which is no mean feat. I couldn't ask for a better bodyguard, or a better friend."

He laughed a little, his natural, unbreakable spirit resurfacing. "Third..." he said lightly, returning to his list.

"Third?"

"We make a heck of a team. I'd also say putting that cure for Duncan's disease in my hands pretty much guarantees that I'll be your friend for life." He grinned and punched my shoulder lightly. "That is, if you can stand having me around."

Before I could reply, we were distracted by a pervasive thunderous rumble. Quiet at first, it grew louder and louder, droning continuously. Grabbing our respective weapons, we took cover behind the barrier that had been our makeshift seat, searching for the source of the noise. Finally, MacCready pointed up into the sky.

A truly immense airship, a dirigible the length of several city blocks was making its stately way across the sky. It was flanked by half a dozen helicopter-like vertibirds, nearly identical to the one I had seen crashed on the roof in Concord. Once the main airship reached the city proper, an announcement boomed out, broadcasting loud and clear for any and all to hear.

"People of the Commonwealth" the voice thundered, clearly audible over the incessant thrumming engines of the accompanying vertibirds, "Do not interfere. Our intentions are peaceful. We are... the Brotherhood of Steel." The airship soared majestically towards the Boston airport tower.

MacCready was stunned, remarking quietly, "Son-of-a... it's the goddamn Brotherhood of Steel. What the hell are they doing here?"

Not entirely sure if he was speaking rhetorically, I hazarded a guess. "Looks like Paladin Danse called in reinforcements." _Is this partially our fault for helping him?_

"Did you see the size of that airship? Now _that's_ how you make an entrance." MacCready's momentary awe faded into a more practical observation. "With the Brotherhood here, you can be sure that the Commonwealth will turn into a war zone," he scoffed, hopping over the highway barrier to get back onto the main road. "Come on, Boss, let's get back to Goodneighbor. I don't want to hang about in the open, especially not with _that_ going on overhead."


	31. Return to Goodneighbor

Daisy greeted us warmly as we entered her shop. “MacCready! I haven't seen you in a while. You haven't been avoiding me, have you?” She gave me a wink as he sauntered up to the counter, grinning flirtatiously at her.

“Now how could I stay away from someone as cute as you, Daisy?” Oozing charm, he placed a genteel kiss on the back of her extended withered hand.

Daisy laughed a low, delighted chuckle. “You're a lousy liar, but I'll just play stupid and pretend I don't know that. So, what did you need?” Instantly, she was all business again, leaning possessively on the counter.

“I got it, Daisy.” MacCready's voice cracked with emotion. “I found the cure to Duncan's disease.”

Daisy's face lit up with unrestrained joy. “Oh my god! That's wonderful news.” She lowered her voice inquiringly. “How did you do it? Last time you tried, the ferals almost chewed you to bits.”

MacCready tugged on his cap, giving me a sheepish look. _He'd tried it by himself? He_ was _desperate._ “I didn't do it alone this time. My friend here got me through Med-Tek.” Placing the precious canister on the counter along with the folded note he wrote that morning, he pushed them both across towards Daisy. “Now all I need to do is get the cure into Duncan's hands. Can you help me?”

She smiled warmly, “Of course, MacCready. You've saved my behind more than once, it's the least I can do. I'll get the sample on the first caravan leaving the Commonwealth. The driver owes me a few favors and he's reliable.” Placing the items in a small metal container for safekeeping, she stowed it behind the counter. “It will arrive at the homestead in no time.”

“Thanks, you're a doll.” With a broad grin, he stepped over to Kill or Be Killed to barter with KL-E-0.

Daisy watched him go with a smile on her face before turning to me. “Looks like friendship agrees with him.” She gave me a sly wink. “And you're looking a little less bewildered as well.” Gesturing for me to step closer, she clasped my hand warmly and whispered to me. “Hey, do me a favor. Take care of MacCready for me. He's one of the good ones.”

I met her conspiratorial smile with one of my own. “I will, Daisy... and you're right. He is.” _He really is. I don't know how I'd survive without him._ Giving her hand a quick squeeze in gratitude, I left to rejoin MacCready, who was just stepping into the street.

“Let's try to find Hancock while we're in town,” I suggested, catching up with him.

“No need,” a raspy voice spoke in my ear as the Ghoul himself sidled in seemingly out of nowhere for a hearty hug, startling me for a moment. “Hancock found you first, Sunshine!” With a cocky grin, he snaked his arm out to drag MacCready into a three-way embrace with himself in the middle. “Hey, MacCready, how's it hangin'?”

“Hancock!” my companion replied in a hearty tone. “How's the coolest Ghoul in the Commonwealth?”

Hancock chuckled, steering us towards The Third Rail, “Perishing for a drink, some Jet, and the company of the two people I most wanted to see today. Let's take over the VIP room and celebrate your return to town, shall we?”

The VIP room was tucked around the corner from the main bar area. I found out that MacCready usually hung out there when he was looking for clients, and he surveyed the area with an almost proprietary air. “Still the same dump it always was,” he commented humorously, “ah well, at least the drinks are plentiful.” He took a seat on one of the couches as I perused the room, curiously inspecting the knickknacks in the glass-fronted cabinets and decorations scattered about the walls.

A few moments later, Hancock entered the room, arms full of bottles, trailed by a couple of attractive ladies in outfits that looked like the poor girls would freeze to death if they stepped outside. Each of them also carried a selection of intoxicants, which they set up on a small table.

“Where's Fahrenheit?” I noticed Hancock's glowering bodyguard was nowhere to be seen.

“She's off taking care of a little... mayoral business for me.” Hancock replied, handing his armful of bottles to the ladies. “Speaking of business,” an orange and white disk file was placed in my hand, “this came for you while you were out. It seems like Dr. Amari's group has a message for you. Ah-ah,” he admonished when I would have immediately played it, “save it for later. Tonight we're going to relax!”

Grabbing one of the bottles from the collection on the side table, Hancock pointed me towards the liquor. “All right,” he announced happily, “looks like we can get this party started!” He pulled out his ubiquitous inhaler and took a puff. “Pick your poison, Sunshine. It's all on me tonight.”

I made my way over to the table to make a selection. Everything was alcoholic to varying degrees, and I inwardly wished he had brought over some water. Spying a beer, I grabbed that instead. “MacCready, what do you want?” When I turned to address him, I noticed that he already had an open bottle in one hand and, to my complete stomach-twisting surprise, a girl on either side of him on the couch.

“Don't worry about him, Sunshine.” Hancock had taken residence on another couch and was beckoning me to join him. “Trudy and Mona know what he likes, and they've missed his... presence.” He followed that statement with a lewd chuckle. “Anyway,” he continued, taking a pull from his own bottle, “how about giving your mayor here some company. I'd love to hear about your exploits in the Commonwealth.”

Spearing one more glance at the already-occupied sniper, I gingerly sat down next to Hancock. He pulled me close with his free hand draping across my shoulders. “So,” he rasped, his voice a low sensual whisper, “Tell me _all_ about your adventures out there. I heard you've helped a settlement or two.” He chuckled and shifted his arm to give my ribs an affectionate squeeze. “It's a good start to paying me back. But if you really want to erase the debt...” accompanied by his wandering fingers and a sultry grin.

“Uhhh...” I sat up and pushed away from him, glancing quickly to see what the occupants of the other couch were up to. MacCready had one arm across the back of the couch, the other tipping his nearly empty bottle back as he took a long drink. Both girls were draped against him, one hanging off his shoulder, the other tracing his thigh in a way that brought a knot of unexpected jealousy to sit, white-hot, in my stomach. _Stop it,_ I told myself fiercely. _You're only his combat partner, not his keeper._ It didn't help the twisting in my guts, and I gulped my beer to try and calm down. The incipient buzz helped to distract me, and I decided to not care, not even a little bit.

Hancock rasped another low, knowing laugh, twisting me around to rest against his side, gently taking the empty beer bottle from my hand and setting it aside. “Shy?” he muttered, a wry grin cockily teasing his features. “No, I get it. You're still getting used to the way things are out here.” He hugged me close in a friendly manner, and I relaxed a little. He was warm, and personable, and it seemed he was perceptive enough to not push the boundaries of my emotional confusion. I tried to focus on the relaxed atmosphere, the sound of jazz music playing in the main room, the beer that had appeared in my hand, the buzz of murmuring conversation.

With the alcohol relaxing my normal hesitance, I was able to chat with Hancock about our adventures, catching him up with the goings on we witnessed in our travels. He was cautiously pleased to hear about the Minutemen's rescue, but decidedly less than happy about the appearance of the Brotherhood of Steel. “Yeah, I heard that flying junk heap monstrosity as it flew by.” He downed his bottle. “I don't trust them, not after your buddy over there told me what they were like in the Capital Wasteland. However, I'm not one to judge hastily. If they play nice, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“Tolerant of you.” I approved. “MacCready was picking fights with them.”

“Ah, he's young,” Hancock chuckled, “and opinionated, and deeply emotional for all that he tries to hide it behind a professional facade like Fahrenheit's. He's also had direct experience with them, so he has his reasons.” Pulling me in closer, he whispered in my ear, his raspy tenor warm. “Looks like the two of you are getting along well. I definitely made the right decision hiring him to protect you, hmm?” He chuckled.

“He's been great.” I hedged, not wanting to admit to too much. “I'm learning a lot. Thank you very, very much for hiring him on my behalf.”

Hancock grunted in satisfaction. “It also gets him out from underfoot around here. You should have seen his bar tab!” He leaned in again, withered lips just brushing my ear. “So... you two done the deed yet?” The low chuckle left no doubt in my mind what he was referring to.

I went to jump up, but Hancock's arm kept me in place. “Ah-ah. No need to cause a scene, Sunshine.” He grinned at my offended glare. “I'm just askin'.”

“I don't see how that is _any_ of your business.” I said coldly, with as much dignity as I could muster.

“I'll take that as a 'no' then,” he laughed slyly. “Why not?” came the innocent query, black eyes wide with feigned guilelessness. “You're cute. He's young, attractive, and none of my girls can even catch his attention for a night, much less for weeks at a time.”

 _And he has his own reasons. I am_ not _going to betray MacCready's secrets if Hancock doesn't know._ “The only reason we've been together for weeks now is because he's under contract.” I retorted, trying to put a rational spin on our partnership. “He's a professional, even if you apparently duped him with a vaguely worded stipulation; 'escort her home' is taking longer than anyone could have realized.”

He laughed heartily at this, giving me a full-on hug and a quick kiss to the top of my head. “Oh, Sunshine, you're adorable.” He patted my head like he would a small child, glancing over at the other couch. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He released me to give me a push towards the alcohol. “You need a beer. Go grab one from the table.” As soon as I had stood up, he brought out his inhaler again.

 _Horndog_ , I thought in irritation, _only has one thing on his mind_. The problem is that once he brought up the thought of, well, of my relationship with MacCready, the prurient corner of my mind seized on it and wouldn't let go. _Damn it._ I stalked over to the table to make another selection. _Yes, he's attractive. I'll admit it. But he's not interested in me that way._ Snatching up another beer, I pried off the cap to take a drink. _Even if I'd like him to be._

 _Did I really just think that?_ I was not going to look over at the other couch. Instead, I very deliberately examined the labels on the bottles in front of me. _Huh, good selection I guess, if I knew anything about hard liquor._

Behind me, Hancock called out, “Bring a bottle over, would you, Sunshine?” And, “Ladies, ladies, you're getting nowhere! If you want a little fun, why not treat yourself to the mayoral experience?” Twin sets of giggles moved from one couch to the other as I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Picking a bottle at random, I turned around to bring it back to Hancock. “Care to join in, Sunshine?” The girls had already claimed the rest of the couch, one running her fingers up and down the Ghoul's chest to his obvious delight, and the other...

I nearly tossed the bottle on the couch in my haste to leave them to their own devices. The second girl had unbuttoned Hancock's trousers in record time, apparently, treating him to a preview of the evening's later activities. _I really, really did not need to see his dick, no._ My face burned with embarrassment and a little hint of drunkenness. Without a second thought, I hastened out of the VIP room with Hancock's sexually charged chuckle following me. _Damn it, that was too much._

Reaching the street, I charged out into the center of the square before stopping in the freezing air to take several bracing breaths. Only then did I notice the light drift of snowflakes falling from the sky. Staring at the floating flakes helped soothe my embarrassment and calm my mind. They caught the lights, twinkling in a variety of colors like minuscule jewels sweeping the air. My breath floated up in clouds of steam, fogging my glasses and giving the view an almost ethereal feel. _It's Hancock's place_ , I thought with a rational detachment. _If he wants to have a threesome in the back room, who am I to judge?_ I was still irritated, though.

I felt, rather than heard, the approach of someone behind me. “Hey, lady,” a harsh deep voice inquired, “looking for a place to stay and some good,” a lustful chuckle, “company?” A tall, warm body pressed against mine, arms wrapping around my chest in an overly intimate manner, preventing me from moving. “It awful cold out here. I can offer you shelter... for the right price,” the threat in his voice hinted unmistakably in my ear. “So, you gonna be nice and pay up?” The sound of familiar footsteps echoed in the square behind us, and I felt my antagonist turn his head. “MacCready? Just keep movin', this lady and I are...”

I had had enough. Emboldened by the beer buzz, irritated and wound up by Hancock's prurient teasing, my hand snaked down to grab the soft, yielding flesh between my unidentified paramour's legs. With a grip strengthened by years of brass repair work, I squeezed viciously and twisted out of the man's hold as he gasped out a pained squeal and tried to drop to his knees. The man was dirty, wearing tattered old clothes, dark hair and scraggly beard unkempt. He was half-crouched, hands desperately waving for balance as the tenderest parts of his anatomy were in my angry, unrelenting grip. His mouth opened and closed frantically, but only the occasional high-pitched whine emerged. My entire attention was focused on him, ignoring my silent bodyguard.

Stepping forward, I unbalanced him enough that he fell backwards onto the freezing ground, my hand still clenching as tightly as I could grasp. “Leave me alone.” I snarled, leaning over him to stare furiously into his agonized face. The man's eyes were crossed, and a tiny bit of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth. “Don't touch me ever again.” I twisted my hand slightly back and forth, pulling a pained moan from his throat. “If there is a next time... from you or anyone else, I won't be so nice about it. Got it?”

Tiny frantic nods were all I was going to get from the man by this point. Moving quickly, I released my hand, but aimed a vicious kick to his groin to hammer my point home. I left him curled into a fetal position in the middle of the bricked courtyard, stalking angrily towards the Rexford and the privacy of my room. Disgusted, I vigorously wiped the hand that had been grasping between the man's legs against my jeans, trying to rid myself of the feel of soft flesh under my fingers. Faintly, I heard the familiar footsteps of my bodyguard following at a distance.

Clair took one look at my face and simply shoved the room key at me with a, “No one's been in there since you left. It's all yours.” I stomped up the stairs and into the room, making for the window. Tearing the curtain aside with a shower of dust, I watched the snow falling lightly, trying to calm down and release my adrenaline high. The man was no longer in the square, a trail of several footprints leading away telling a story I didn't care to read.

From the doorway, I heard MacCready's comment. “Huh, Clair was right, no one has been in here since we left... not even to clean.” Whirling around angrily at the interruption of my attempt to calm myself, I noticed he was staying well away from me, eyes slightly glazed. He plopped down on the couch with his usual careless grace, giving me an even look. “I would've stepped in, but you handled yourself quite well.” He chuckled a bit drunkenly, “I suppose that was one way to get your hands on a dick, though I know Hancock wouldn't have complained if you had stayed instead.”

At the reminder of why I left the Third Rail in the first place, I marched over to him before he could scramble out of the way. “Is that all you men think about? Getting your dick serviced?” Hovering over him, I realized I was a bit more drunk than buzzed, and my frustration was hard to control. He met my drunken gaze with his own glazed blue eyes, wisely not making any moves. Flexing my fingers threateningly, I snapped, “Would you like your own personal demonstration?” _Oh my god, did I just say that?_

“Ah, no” he replied soothingly, slowly holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “I would much rather stay on your good side, angel.”

As if those quiet words severed a knot deep inside, I relaxed, sighing ruefully. “I think I'm a bit drunk. I'm sorry, MacCready. You didn't deserve that.” Moving slowly, I sat gingerly on the couch next to him. “I just wasn't expecting to see...”

“Yeah, Hancock's parties can get a bit heavy if you're not ready for it.” He straightened up, placing his arm across the back of the couch behind me in an unspoken invitation. “You rushed out pretty quick. I figured he took you by surprise.” A chuckle floated up to the ceiling as he leaned his head back.

“That's putting it mildly. He'd been respectfully friendly up to that point, and I was actually enjoying the conversation.” Leaning back into the cushions, I felt his arm drape lightly across my shoulders. “I was not expecting to see the beginnings of a menage a trois, and I was definitely wasn't expecting to be invited to join in.” I shuddered slightly. “I hope he's not mad, but I just couldn't take any more.”

“Mad?” MacCready shook his head. “No. He lives in the moment, and was quite happily distracted by the time I followed you out the door. Don't worry about it. Or him.”

“All right.” I sat for a moment, just enjoying the quiet and the feeling of privacy. “Hey, Mac?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Does the Rexford have showers?” I dearly wanted to wash off the evening's activities if I could.

“You're asking me?” he laughed. “I don't like getting wet, remember?” He thought about it for a moment, giving my shoulder a friendly squeeze. “I doubt it, though. If they did, they certainly wouldn't be hot.”

Thinking a little too comfortably about the attractive sniper I was sitting next to, I muttered under my breath, “Maybe I _need_ a cold shower.”

“What was that, Boss?”

“Nothing.” Standing up, I went back to the window. MacCready stretched out on the couch, lazily cleaning his fingernails with his combat knife. Watching the dusting of snowflakes swirl around, I focused on calming down enough to think about sleep. The rest of the evening was spent in a companionable silence.


	32. The Freedom Trail

“We hear you have a puzzle for us. You've piqued our curiosity. If you want to learn more, follow the Freedom Trail.” I played the tape again, the lilting tenor voice sounding like he had seen too many spy movies. Forgotten until the morning, I inserted the data file Hancock had given me into my Pip-Boy as soon as I had woken up.

“That's it? That's the whole message?” MacCready demanded incredulously. “I hate guessing games,” he griped, wrapping his green woolen scarf snugly around his chest and neck as we prepared to leave the Rexford. For once, I had awakened before my partner, and he was less than thrilled to leave his warm nest on the couch to go on what he suspected was a futile chase for this mysterious group who may or may not be able to help me.

“What other choice do we have?” I asked him mildly, figuring most of his temper was probably a result of a mild hangover. I tossed him a can of purified water which he caught and downed with a quick nod of thanks. “I hate the cold with a passion, but if we keep moving it shouldn't be too bad.”

I knew from a previous trip to Boston that The Freedom Trail was a tourist walk, a path that wound through the city leading past various historic sites and buildings. How a pre-war tourist attraction was going to help us locate this mysterious faction, I had no idea. Fortunately, the cold and previous night's dusting of flurries kept nearly everyone and everything inside to try and keep warm. Our journey to the beginning of the trail, helpfully marked on my MAP screen by the cryptic tape file was uneventful, if frigid.

We ignored the robot tour guide, not wanting to call unwanted attention to our presence. MacCready had advised me to stay quiet as the center of Boston was a haven for raiders and Super Mutants. Standing on the metal trail marker, I noted the fresher graffiti in red spelling out a code: 7 – A. I inputted it into my DATA screen and we were off, following the thin brick trail to find the other parts of the code.

Staying low and moving quietly, we made our torturous way through downtown Boston, following the line of markers, taking down another letter/number combination each time. At several points in our journey we were forced to step into side alleys or behind cover to avoid alerting the occasional roving Super Mutants of our presence. Each time, the fear of discovery and lack of movement chilled me further, to the extent that I was starting to shiver audibly, my armor clattering lightly against itself as we crouched behind a decimated brick retaining wall. With a nearly inaudible grunt, MacCready pulled me over to crouch under him, his hands splaying across my arms to muffle the noise from my involuntary shaking. “Geez, Boss,” he breathed, his face pressed against the back of my head, chin bristles rubbing my neck. “Can we try not to alert every Super Mutant in the area to our presence?”

Listening carefully to the heavy footfalls treading right outside our scant cover, I pressed in to MacCready, closing my eyes to imagine his body heat warming me, stilling my shivers and quieting the rattle of my armor. We stayed in that awkward embracing half-crouch for several minutes until the Super Mutant wandered off. When I would have moved on, he held me close for another moment, leaning his chin into my shoulder. “You gonna be okay to keep going?” The concern in his voice was almost as warm as the cheek pressed to my ear. “We should be close, but if you need to go back and warm up...”

“I'll make it,” I replied, pressing my face into his. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

I could feel his smile. “Anytime, Boss.”

The rest of the trail was less difficult as we wound our way north and east from the center of Boston. Going out in the bitter cold was wearing, but it also kept most of the streets clear. We eventually found ourselves outside the Old North Church. A chalk drawing of a lit lantern decorated the side of the building. “End of the road,” I murmured, staring up at the old wooden doors. “Let's see who's inside.”

As soon as we entered the church, we were swarmed by a collection of feral Ghouls. MacCready strafed right, his rifle moving smoothly and unerringly, taking his usual head shots. I stepped to the left side of the door, forcing my cold-numbed hands to squeeze off my own shots. Fortunately, my V.A.T.S. assistance didn't seem to care that I couldn't feel my fingers, and we shortly took care of our welcome party. Examining the rest of the church, we discovered a recently excavated tunnel to the catacombs below. We moved slowly, ready for more resistance as we followed the catacombs further beneath the church. Sure enough, a few stragglers from the main force of feral Ghouls upstairs were hiding out in the relative quiet of the sepulcher. They were easily dispatched.

Finding our way to what looked like a dead-end, MacCready pointed out the electrical wiring disappearing into the stone wall. “I'm pretty sure that wasn't here when this church was built,” he quipped.

“Considering electricity hadn't been discovered yet, I think you're right.” There was a plaque set into the wall, underneath a light powered by those same wires. Examining the disparate pieces making up the decoration, I discovered the outer ring of text was movable. “Look at this, Mac.” The inner ring had a recent addition of a pointer icon carved into the metal.

“Huh, pretty clever,” he admired. “Let's see those letters we picked up from the Trail.”

Rearranging the letter-number combinations into numerical order spelled out an eight-letter word: RAILROAD. “Seems simple enough,” I commented, spinning the outer ring like a combination lock and pressing the raised central protrusion to confirm my selections. As soon as I had locked in the last letter, a hidden door in the stone next to the plaque swung open to reveal a pitch black entrance. We exchanged a triumphant glance and cautiously entered the darkened doorway, weapons at the ready.

Before we had taken more than a few steps into the darkened chamber, we were suddenly blinded by several high-powered lights shining directly into our faces. “Stop right there!” a hostile female voice called, low-pitched and threatening. We froze, slowly lowering our weapons. As soon as my eyes began to adjust, I counted three forms standing on a raised wall, all pointing firearms at us. “You went through a lot of effort to get here. Before we go any further, who the hell are you and how did you find us?”

“We'd be more inclined to answer your questions if you weren't pointing weapons at us, you know.” MacCready retorted sarcastically.

“Until I determine you're not a threat, we'll point our weapons wherever we damned well please.” she said.

“Fine.” I spoke up, drawing the woman's attention. “My name is Anne. And I received a message to follow The Freedom Trail to find you. Now, who are you?”

“A message?” she looked perplexed for a moment, then shrugged. “We'll check into that. As for who I am, I'm Desdemona, and I'm the leader of the Railroad.” At this moment, a pale man sauntered in from the shadows behind the three people accosting us. He looked absolutely, completely average, wearing a white T-shirt, _in this weather?_ , faded jeans, and a pair of darkened sunglasses that hid his eyes. His black hair was swept up into a pompadour style. “Deacon!” Desdemona admonished. “Where have you been? I need intel.”

“Having a party without me, Dez?” he drawled. I immediately recognized his voice as the one from the data file. “I even brought my own guests!” he announced, gesturing to us. I glanced over at MacCready, who had narrowed his eyes suspiciously, staring at the group on the wall. “Well, aren't you going to invite them in?”

“You,” and Desdemona's voice was hard, “vouch for these people?”

“Sure,” Deacon answered breezily, “these two have been out and about meeting folks, helping the occasional stranded settlers, clearing the baddies out of a couple of technological sites of interest.” He grinned and leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. “The lady there has herself one heck of a non-Vault-Tec Pip-Boy that Tom would give his right leg to examine. Probably his left leg, too. Word is, she needs help getting home, but 'home' isn't the Wasteland, which is quite a puzzle.”

At his recitation, the other two people pointing weapons at us lowered their firearms, though still keeping a wary eye on us.

Desdemona sounded suspicious, but resigned. “All right, Deacon. As long as you vouch for them. Stand down, Drummer Boy, Glory. Let's all take this inside.” She turned to us, “Welcome to the Railroad.” The two guards, a man and a striking woman with white hair, shouldered their weapons and filed into a doorway farther back from the wall they had been standing on. At Deacon's expansive wave, MacCready and I also put our weapons up to follow him into the next room.


	33. The Railroad

The Railroad was a group dedicated to saving Synths. “The Institute created them; Synthetic humans. They're mostly organic, part machine. Somewhere along the line they became more than just constructs. They think, they feel, and they act just like you and me.” Desdemona declared passionately. “They are so close to 'real' people that the distinction is meaningless. If it's impossible to tell a single difference between a synth and a human - they must be treated the same. The Institute treats synths as property; as tools. So we seek to free the synths from their bondage. Give them a chance at a real life.” She nodded at Deacon, who was walking next to her, leading us into the vaulted stone-walled chamber.

“I can see that,” I commented carefully. “But I'm also not from here, so I'm still new to the whole concept.” MacCready huffed sardonically behind me.

“As long as you keep an open mind and don't interfere with our mission, you're welcome to stay... for now.” Desdemona had reached the center of the underground catacomb the Railroad was using as their headquarters. She turned to face me, leaning against the stone platform being used as a mission table. “We may ask for your help in exchange for helping you. Deacon said you need help getting home?”

“I wish it were that simple.” I said, launching into my story, including the theories we had gathered in our journey around the Commonwealth. To their credit, neither Desdemona nor Deacon appeared skeptical of my story, merely nodding in understanding occasionally. When I stuttered to a stop, they stood quietly for a few moments, thinking.

“What do you think, Deacon?” she finally asked.

“Not the most outrageous story I've heard.” he said. “Hell, it's not even the most outrageous story I've _told_.” he added wryly.

“Considering your stories, Deacon, I'd believe that in a heartbeat” Desdemona crossed her arms again. “Well, since you invited them and vouched for them, I'd say they're your responsibility. I've got enough on my plate already without dealing with crazy sci-fi theories. See what Tom has to say,” she suggested, turning back to the map on the main table, dismissing us.

Deacon rubbed his hands together in exuberant glee. “All right! I get my own mystery to solve! With help, of course.” He motioned for us to head over to one corner dominated by computer equipment and a variety of workbenches. “Meet Tinker Tom, the Commonwealth's premiere eccentric genius extraordinaire.” A ostentatious flourish pointed out a tall, thin figure bent over one of the workbenches.

Tinker Tom whirled around at the introduction. He was an energetic black man dressed in faded overalls and a leather cap covered in a large selection of lenses and wires. The impression I got was of a Wasteland equivalent to a tin foil hat, and the accompanying paranoia associated with it. Behind me, I heard MacCready muffle a snicker.

“Well, hello there, traveler from distant lands!” he exclaimed in excited greeting. “I couldn't help but listen in on your story. You're the proof I need to expand on some of my pet theories, you know?” He spoke quickly, his words nearly tumbling over themselves in his haste. “And I just happen to be the Wasteland's leading expert on the Institute outside of the cancerous organization itself.” His fingers twitched almost unconsciously towards my Pip-Boy. “If that thing on your arm is connected to the Institute in any way, I'll find it for you!”

I held out my arm. “You think it might be? The Brotherhood members were only speculating.”

To Deacon's unmistakable amusement, Tom had moved forward as if possessed, running his hands over every surface of my Pip-Boy. I held still as he traced the visible electrical lines leading into my fingers and arm. “Oh, wow man!” He pulled down one of the many lenses from his cap, examining my arm closely. “Wow. This is something else!” Flipping the lens back up, he let go of my arm with extreme reluctance. “Can you remove it? I would love to run that baby through a Tinker Tom special diagnostic scan. It'll find anything and everything the Institute has hidden in there.”

I took a step back. _It couldn't be this easy, could it?_ “You'd be able to figure out how I got here?”

“Maybe, maybe.” Tom picked at his generous lower lip. “Can't tell until it's hooked up, can we?”

MacCready had stepped up behind me. I turned my head to ask out of the corner of my mouth, “Your thoughts?”

“I dunno, Boss,” he murmured quietly. “Desdemona is almost as much a fanatic as Rhys was, but in the opposite direction. I wouldn't trust Deacon any father than I can throw him; I swear I've seen him before. But this Tom fellow seems like the real deal. I've seen genius at work before, and he fits the mold perfectly. It's ultimately your decision.”

“All right, Tom.” I said, to his gleeful delight. Unlatching the Pip-Boy from my arm, I handed it to him along with the data disk from The Memory Den that had been in my jacket pocket. “Here. I also have a file from Dr. Amari in The Memory Den which contains the memories she found relating to my, ah, journey here.”

Barely containing his excitement, Tinker Tom exclaimed, “We're in business now!” He gleefully scampered back to his terminal with the Pip-Boy cradled almost reverently in his hands. He inserted the disk file into a reader on the side of one computer, flicking it on. Taking a few moments to attach a variety of sensors and wires to every available surface of my Pip-Boy, he crouched down to tap rapidly on his keyboard, muttering constantly under his breath. “All right baby, let's see what you got! ...Aw, no, don't be like that. ...Come on, what're you hiding? ...Aha, knew I could get past there. ...Huh, well ain't that fascinating! ...Oh no, no no no... Yes! ...Well, look at that!” We left him to his own devices, letting genius work.

Deacon gave us a quick tour of the catacombs, introducing us to some of the other Railroad members. They ranged from Dr. Carrington, the resident medic, to Glory, a rescued Synth herself, dedicated to saving as many of her own kind as possible. The Railroad had only recently claimed the Old North Church catacombs, their old headquarters having been destroyed by the Institute with a small army of Gen 1 Synths.

“It was a tough blow to our cause,” Deacon explained somberly. “We lost quite a few of our best agents.”

“Every time I hear about the Institute,” I commented, “they just sound worse and worse.”

Deacon nodded and MacCready rolled his eyes. “I told you, Boss, they're not the good guys.”

Wandering back towards the main area, Tinker Tom was still typing away at his terminal, muttering incessantly under his breath, eyes bright. Deacon stopped us before we could approach. “He's gonna be a while. Probably all night at this rate.” Looking to the ceiling as he thought, he turned around to lead us away from the workbenches. “I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you won't leave without your little toy, so you'll have to bunk down here tonight.”

Several mattresses lay scattered about, the bare minimum of privacy attempted by placing them behind the stone sarcophagi and other scattered furniture. Deacon led us to a mattress in the farthest corner from the central area. “We don't have enough for everyone, so you'll have to double up.” He added quickly, chuckling, “don't worry, I won't make you share with Carrington! Just put your packs there.” He leaned in to whisper loudly, “the drafts are the worst here, so no one will try to steal your spot. Ask me how I know.”

“Are you telling me I have to bunk with you again, Deacon?” Glory called from across the room.

“However did you guess?”

The Railroad members were generous enough to share their evening meal with us. We sat around the main table, while Desdemona discussed some ongoing missions with her crew, keeping the details vague in respect to our presence. Tinker Tom didn't join us as he was completely enthralled with his work on my Pip-Boy. Deacon brought over a dinner portion to him, making a show of tiptoeing around the engineer so as not to distract him; a performance that was guaranteed to be distracting in and of itself. He came back over to sit next to Glory, “my evening bunk buddy,” who rolled her eyes at his antics.

After finishing our meal, which was reasonably tasty even if I couldn't identify it, MacCready and I took ourselves away from the Railroad members to claim our corner for the evening. We gave our weapons a good going-over, taking more time than usual in order to keep ourselves occupied. Once that was completed, I still wasn't tired, but also didn't want to interrupt what was obviously a mission discussion at the main table. We sat next to each other on the mattress, trying to keep warm in the growing chill, despite a couple of fires burning nearby.

“Why don't you turn on the radio?” suggested MacCready, pointing to an old unit on a nearby desk. “For a musician, you don't listen to it much, and there's a classical music station.”

“Good idea.” Soon, the quiet strains of The Blue Danube filled the silence. I closed my eyes, hugging my knees to my chest and just enjoying the music for a minute before commenting, “I've played this one before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, in college.” I gave a low laugh glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. “The clarinet part is, like, six pages of music with repeats back to the beginning. It went on forever.”

“I thought you were in the Army.” He shuffled down to lay sideways on the mattress, looking up at me.

“Ye-es. But I went to college first, for music. It's one of the reasons I was twenty-three when I left for Basic Training instead of the more usual eighteen or nineteen.”

“How old are you now, Boss?” came the inevitable question.

“Older than you. Besides, it's not polite to ask a lady her age.” I didn't want to think of the years separating us. _It doesn't matter out here, anyway._

“Aw, come on, Boss. You know how old I am.” He poked at me with a teasing finger. “Age is just a number, after all.”

“A number that will remain a mystery, my dear sniper.” I eyed the narrow span of the mattress we were supposed to share. “By the way, how are we going to...” my stomach fluttered a bit as I gestured at our perceived predicament.

He chuckled a little, eyes narrowed slyly. “You afraid to share a mattress with your bodyguard? It's fine, Boss. I've seen what you can do to someone who makes unwanted advances.”

 _What about_ wanted _advances, though?_ “Uh, right.” _I am not going to think about that, starting now._ “I mean, if everyone has to share...” Slowly, I re-positioned myself to lay down on my side, facing the wall. The mattress was reasonably comfortable, but the corner was indeed as drafty as Deacon had warned, and we had no blankets. Almost immediately, I felt MacCready move closer, pressing lightly against my back to share warmth. _Starting now._ I pressed back a little harder. I thought I imagined a whispered chuckle as his arm reached over to tuck against my waist. _Starting... now._


	34. Revelations

Tinker Tom was hovering over us when I woke up, startling a surprised squeak out of me and causing MacCready to roll onto the cold stone floor reaching for his rifle. As soon as we had identified him, my partner stalked off in a foul temper to clear his head and see if there might be anything for breakfast.

“What the hell? Did you sleep at all, Tom?” I asked, yawning and shivering a little in the drafty corner.

“No, no, no!” he babbled excitedly, “No time to sleep when your little device has such goodies hidden inside!” He grabbed my arm, nearly dragging me to his workstation. My Pip-Boy was still attached to his terminal, which was scrolling a seemingly endless screen of programming text, a complete mystery to me. “Let me tell you, this little thing is amazing! I've only scratched the surface, though.”

“What can you tell me?” I yawned, waking up at the prospect of actually getting some answers.

Instead of answering immediately, Tom hustled around the room gathering a couple of extra chairs, placing them near his computer station. “Sit down, this is gonna take a while. Hey, Deacon, come and join us!”

Deacon, trailed by MacCready, sauntered over to take one of the proffered seats. I sat down in another, gratefully taking the hot drink that my partner handed to me. _Oh my god, is this actually... coffee?_ I closed my eyes to take in the aroma briefly in bliss before taking a sip, curling my cold fingers around the mug to warm them. _Okay, whatever horrors this world has, at least there's coffee._ “Thanks, Mac,” I said with heartfelt gratitude. He gave me a cheeky grin and wrinkled his nose at the beverage, pretending to gag. I stuck my tongue out at him in response when I thought no one was looking.

By this time, Tom had used up enough of his boundless energy to actually stand still for a few moments. “All right, lady from another world. Are you ready for this? It's going to blow your mind!”

I smiled wryly at the engineer over my coffee. “After what's happened to me in the last several weeks? Go right ahead and try.”

Tom laughed delightedly. “What you have there is _definitely_ an Institute device. It's got their scientific fingerprints all over it! But there's a touch of another technology in there that even I can't identify! It appears to be a low level assembly language, and it's talking to the Institute programming like they were twins. The whole thing is encrypted, and I haven't managed to crack it yet, but I'll get there!” He stood up to pace restlessly in front of the terminal, half muttering to himself. “I'll get there.”

I tried to bring his attention back to the discussion at hand. “You said there's more than one technology in there? Who's the second one?”

“Now that, that I don't know. I even ran through that memory tape from Dr. Amari and if I were to make a guess, it's the people who sent you that letter... that B.I.R.D. acronym company from your world. It's fascinating!” Tom whirled to tap away excitedly at his keyboard, ignoring us.

At this point, Deacon stepped in. “Tom, as much as we enjoy our guests' company, they really do need to be going at some point.” He grabbed the excitable genius by the shoulder, turning him to face us again. “Would you be so kind as to tell them what you _did_ find out about this fascinating little gadget?”

“Oh, yeah man! Check this out!”

What followed was a very long and somewhat rambling explanation of what Tinker Tom had uncovered so far. He expanded on his discoveries as we took a hasty meal in our chairs. Apparently, the Institute had programmed the delightful cybernetic enhancements that had extended into my body, allowing for the invocation of skills needed in the Wasteland: V.A.T.S., lockpicking, hacking, and the various computer interfaces.

What the Synths in ArcJet were alerting to was apparently a short-range signal emitting from the interface dongle. “ _That_ programming is based in the other language or I would have cracked it already for you and shut it down. It also fused in place when you went through the big bright light, so I can't remove it. I don't know what it's signaling, or what other goodies it's hiding inside, but what I _did_ do was add my own little hidden script to keep it from talking, and instead, listen. You dig?”

“I think so,” I admitted, thinking hard. “So, basically, this device is trying to be found, and you programmed it to not only _not_ talk to whoever is trying to find it, but to steal as much information it can if they try?”

“Not as technical as I'd put it, but yeah, that's the gist! That little dongle addition to your Pip-Boy has a lot more in it than just a signal emitter, but it'll take time to decode it. I did copy as much as I could.”

“It'd be better if it wasn't signaling at all, but I guess this is the best we can do for now. At least the signal is short-range.” Deacon added. “Nice work, Tom.”

The Quantum battery had also irrevocably fused itself into the body of the Pip-Boy when it fired up and did...what it did.

“So, what _did_ it do when it fired up?” I wanted to know. “That's the part that no one can figure out.”

“It brought you here, of course” Tom announced as if it was obvious.

“Of course,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose under my glasses. _“How?”_

Now _that_... that is...” He fidgeted back and forth on his feet. “Well, I have a theory, but I don't want to spill the beans until I have some kind of evidence, you see? It's kinda out there, even for me.”

“C'mon, Tom,” MacCready demanded in exasperation, “can't you give us an idea? A lead? Anything? You're supposed to be the Institute expert here.”

“Back off, merc,” Deacon threatened, looming over the shorter, slighter man. “If you haven't noticed, we're doing _you_ a favor. Tinker Tom was up all night trying to decipher the programming in that thing. Even genius takes time, not like you'd know anything about it.” The two men exchanged a hostile look.

“Anyway,” Tom continued, interrupting the staring contest to my relief. “Until we know exactly _how_ you got here, we can't even begin to plan how to get you back. But I have an idea! It'll get the info I need to prove my theory, and help the Railroad at the same time. Basically, I need you to do me a favor, if I'm gonna crack that baby for you. You in?”

 _Looks like this is going to take even more time than I had thought. I'm so tired. I just want to go home._ “Sure, Tom,” I said in a low voice I didn't even recognize as my own. “What do you need?”

“Aw, honey, don't you give up hope!” Tom grinned at me encouragingly. He started unhooking my Pip-Boy, talking over his shoulder. “The Institute, they're here in the Commonwealth, but no one can find them, yeah? They just show up, kidnap people, replace them with a Synth copy, and no one ever sees them coming or going.”

Deacon nodded in agreement. “It's driving Dez crazy that we can't infiltrate them when we can't find the front door. My grenade delivery boy scheme is useless,” he lamented comically.

“Exactly!” Tom beamed. “So, like I said, I have a theory. The Institute's got high-level Synths they call Coursers, killing machines in a very literal sense. Those bastards pop in, like out of nowhere, decimate our forces, and pop out again. Bam! Institute magic! The Coursers are the _only_ ones that can do that.” He waved his hands excitedly, nearly dropping my Pip-Boy in the process. “Like all Synths, they have a component in their head, a chip that contains their Institute programming. Get me one of those chips, and I bet you I'll have your way home in no time! It'll prove my theory and give me the answers I need to get your return ticket.”

MacCready was aghast. “You want us to kill a Courser?” he demanded incredulously, shaking his head. “No one's been able to manage it, not even you.”

Deacon reached out to pat the sniper on the shoulder, to his obvious annoyance. “Aw, c'mon MacCready, you're 'the best gun in the Commonwealth'. We just weren't able to afford you. Now you get paid to kill something as part of your contract that actually benefits the Wasteland in the long run.” He grinned at MacCready's angry snarl.

Not wanting to witness another fight, I interrupted. “I suppose you can point us to a Courser if you want us to take it out? I don't know anything about them other than what you've just told me.”

Tom beamed. “Yes! Well, kind of. Another of my little enhancements to your device here.” He displayed my Pip-Boy screen with a flourish. “The Coursers have a frequency like your Pip-Boy's signal. I've programmed a tracker into your RADIO tab that will pick it up like a radar blip. Just follow the beeps until... Blammo! Courser elimination!”

“What kind of range does it have?”

Tom fidgeted nervously, running his fingers across the Pip-Boy. “That's the not-so-good part. You have to be pretty close, like within less than a quarter of a mile, to pick up their signal. It's magnitudes father than your signal, but...”

“So we'll just have to wander the Commonwealth in hopes of picking up a Courser signal?” I sighed, glancing at MacCready who was keeping very quiet, glaring at Deacon. “It might take a while.” _I hope my contract with MacCready is still good. This bodyguard job is taking a lot longer than any of us thought it would._

Tom nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, it's a bit of a sleeper plan. But if we get any intel on Courser activity, we can alert you!” He pointed to another line of text on the RADIO tab: RRoad, handing it to me along with the memory tape. “You can have these back now. I've gotten as much as I can off them for my research. But don't stay away long! As soon as you get a chip, or any other information... hell, if you bump into _anyone_ from the Institute, come back here! I can extract the data from your Pip-Boy, and it'll help all of us!” At this final exclamation, Tom turned back to his terminal and was soon deep in concentration, blind and deaf to everything around him.

Deacon led us back towards the catacomb entrance. “Looks like we're gonna have to part ways now. It's time for our super secret pinky-swear Railroad tea party. Don't worry,” he reassured me with a friendly pat on my back. “We're specialists in ruining Institute plans, you know. Just get us that Courser chip! With MacCready along, it should be a piece of cake!” He stepped back, actually aiming finger guns at me in a ridiculous pose, “We'll be in touch again soon!” He paused, then added, “Oh, and if you hear of any _escaped_ Institute Synths in need of help, we would be very thankful if you lent them a hand.”

“Thanks, Deacon,” I replied with mixed emotions as we exited the Railroad headquarters. “We'll see what we can do.”


	35. Lessons in Distraction

“Back to Goodneighbor, then?” asked MacCready as soon as we stepped into the early afternoon light. The air was not as frigid as the day before, the sun warming the bricks of the buildings around us. I took a moment to install the Pip-Boy back on my arm, feeling the familiar pulse of accompanying energy. Tom's words still echoed in my head – “ _kill a Courser.”_ Three words that could change my life, again. I hadn't realized I had spoken aloud until my partner answered me.

“Not the easiest of tasks,” he commented. “Both Deacon and Tinker Tom left things out from their oh-so-illuminating discussion. Coursers are the elite hunters of the Institute Synths. They're tough, strong, fast, deadly, and next to impossible to kill. But, you have the best gun in the Commonwealth backing you up. If that's what you need, we'll get that chip.” He started walking, giving me a nudge to keep up. “Next lesson: Don't give up hope. Stranger things have happened in the Wasteland.”

“I just don't know what to think anymore,” I sighed. “At least we know more than we did. I'm so...” I trailed off.

“So...?” MacCready encouraged.

“Confused. Frustrated.” I gestured randomly with my shotgun. “Angry at whoever did this to me. I'm nobody, just some random woman living her life, not bothering a soul,” I hissed, “why pick me?” My frustration grew and I stalked down the street.

“You're not nobody,” he insisted, then thought for a moment before changing tack. “You know what I like to do to let off steam when I'm upset?”

“No?”

“Shoot things. Preferably things that deserve it.” A sinister smile creased his face. “Like maybe some ferals? Or even Super-Mutants, if we're very careful. It's a nice distraction from your problems.”

“You think that will help?” I checked my ammunition. _If we can stock up in Goodneighbor, I should be good. MacCready seems to have a decent handle on how to emotionally survive, “rolling with the punches” as he terms it. Maybe I should try emulating him more. I could use a distraction._

“Can't hurt,” he shrugged. “We could use the caps from looting, and we'd be clearing out some of central Boston, making life safer for the common citizen.” he finished in a fruity announcer's voice. “Just like the goody two-shoes we're supposed to be.”

Gritting my teeth in a grimly determined expression, I challenged my friend. “Show me.” _If I'm going to be angry, I may as well take it out on something that needs to be eliminated... for the good of the Commonwealth, of course._

MacCready was as good as his word. We stalked the alleyways of downtown Boston between the Old North Church and Goodneighbor, looking for a fight. One small cemetery was home to a group of feral Ghouls, who soon became proper silent unmoving company for the interred inhabitants. A single wandering Super Mutant was more of a challenge, but once I had blown out his knee with my shotgun, it was a simple matter for us to take him out. Both initial fights against the non-human adversaries were almost reassuring to my conscience, knowing I was helping clear out dangers in the Commonwealth.

We also ran into a small squad of roving Gunners, fortunately none of whom recognized MacCready as one of their former members. That fight was the toughest yet, the Gunners being better armed and more alert than either of our previous adversaries, winging both of us before we could take cover. We had to take shelter in a boarded up doorway, exchanging fire. When the last of them were dispatched, we quickly looted the bodies of as much as we could carry. I felt an unconscious twinge of remorse. These were human beings after all, despite being the bottom-feeders of the Commonwealth, taking contracts when they could, raiding and killing when it suited them. MacCready had made the right decision cutting ties with them as soon as he did, since he actually had a conscience and a good heart under his prickly emotional shield. I tried to rationalize our attack, but it still sat uneasily in my mind.

We traveled the rest of the way into Goodneighbor with the afternoon sun still in the sky. Neither of us had made it back unscathed and Daisy laid into both of us at our bloody state when we entered the shop to trade with her.

“Nice of you to clean out part of downtown Boston of the scum, but did you _have_ to get hit in the process?” she demanded, giving both of us a lecture and a quick bandaging of our various injuries. “I don't know anything about _your_ fighting abilities, dear, but MacCready, you're better than that.”

“Close quarters,” came the shrugged explanation from the unrepentant mercenary. “Thanks, Daisy,” MacCready said charmingly, giving her a flirtatious grin. “You're the best.” He stood up, making his way around to the side of her counter.

“I know I am,” she said severely, but with a smile for the charismatic young man. “Let's see what you've brought me this time.”

“Hey, Boss, why don't you trade with KL-E-0 this time? I've got more stuff for Daisy than you do.” He waved me off, pointing next door. Daisy raised her brows, giving him a searching look.

“Uh, sure.” I was pretty sure he had more weapons in his pack than I did, but wasn't really in the mood to argue. “Thanks, Daisy.” I called as I headed out.

“Anytime, dear. Now, let's see what you've got, MacCready...”

KL-E-0 was her usual dangerously seductive self, and I was able to barter the loot in my bag, mostly some random weapons, unneeded ammunition, and several smaller intact armor pieces, for a decent trade in caps and rounds fitting our own weapons. I perused the counter and displays behind the deadly robot, spying a scope I hadn't seen before. “What's that one, KL-E-0?”

“Ah,” she fetched the item, placing it on the counter between us. “This lovely little gem just came in from a trading caravan. Exceptional sights, night vision capabilities, perfect for long-range killing.”

 _I think Mac would like this._ “How much?” The price named was high, but for a scope of that caliber, I didn't begrudge the caps. _What am I saving them for, anyway? Gotta keep up the hope that I'm going home._

Wrapping my purchase in a scrap of cloth, and stuffing in into my bag for later, I stepped back into the square just as my Pip-Boy buzzed. MacCready was still chatting with Daisy, so I sat down on one of the scattered benches to see what the alert was. My RADIO tab was blinking, and I flicked the selector switch over hastily. _Maybe there's an update. Did Tom find something else?_

There was a message from Paladin Danse. “ _I spoke with Elder Maxson. He wishes to meet with you to discuss your predicament. Return to the Cambridge Police Station at your earliest convenience.”_ I reviewed the words, my stomach twisting a little. Since the Railroad gave me several new insights into the nature and origin of my Pip-Boy, would the Brotherhood of Steel be able and willing to help? I looked up as MacCready walked over, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What's up, Boss?” he asked, pointing to the screen. I played him the message. He listened intently, staring at the screen, then looked back up at me. “Danse wants us to go back to Cambridge?”

“Heh, in military parlance, 'at your earliest convenience' means 'as fast as you can possibly move'.” I said, flicking back to the MAP screen to study it. “If we hustle, we can make it to Diamond City tonight.”

“Do you _want_ to meet with this Maxson person?” MacCready asked carefully, sitting down on the bench next to me. “If I remember correctly, this is the same Elder Maxson who turned the Brotherhood into fanatics down in the Capital Wasteland. Now he's up here, and we don't know why, or what they want.”

I thought about his words for a long moment. “We won't know until we speak with him. I think Danse is trustworthy, though. He reminds me very strongly of one of my old First Sergeants, and I would have followed that man into fire if I had to. I doubt Danse would have set up a meeting if he didn't think the Brotherhood could help. We can get there tomorrow if we overnight in Diamond City.” Suiting action to words, I hastily recorded a reply to send back. “We can be in Cambridge tomorrow evening at the latest, barring any resistance to our travel.”

“Into fire, huh?” A wry grin teased the corner of MacCready's lips. “All right, Boss. Fire it is.”

“Speaking of fire, or firing...” I dug into my pack, pulling out the cloth-wrapped scope. “Here. I hope you like it.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise and he didn't immediately take the gift until I pressed it into his hands. “What's this? For me?” His voice was soft, awed, eyes glittering.

“Call it part payment for the long-term bodyguard work.” I explained. “I don't want to lose you now to a better offer.”

He laughed, low and a little rough, unwrapping the cloth. “This isn't necessary, you're not going to lose me. I told you, Boss, I don't break my contra-- holy crap!” Holding up the scope, he ran his long calloused fingers down its length, adjusting the focus, peering through it with a quiet gasp. “Night vision, too?” Almost reverently, he detached the old battered scope on his sniper, placing it into his pack with a pat. With swift sure movements, the new scope clicked into place. “This is perfect! I love it. Thank you.” He smiled at me with that rare, unguarded smile that caused a flutter in my stomach.

“Now you can see your targets at night, too!” I replied, smiling back. “You're welcome. I'm glad it's useful.” Standing up, I slung my nearly empty pack over my shoulder. “Let's get to Diamond City.”

“Why not stay here?” MacCready asked, giving me a look I couldn't read. “The room's free.”

“One, we're that much closer to Cambridge, so we'll have more time to deal with any delays.” I explained, holding up the MAP screen for him to read.

“And two?” He queried.

“Two words: Hot Shower.”


	36. Lessons in Love

Our journey to Diamond City was almost boring in comparison to our trek into Goodneighbor, but we were focusing on making good time, and not looking for a fight. The alley that had been blocked with feral Ghouls was still clear from our last visit, and the cold weather had been keeping the human scavengers away. It was mid-evening when we entered our usual room #2 in the Dugout Inn. In the same manner as our last visit, I showered and changed while MacCready performed weapon maintenance, then he showered and changed into his spare outfit while I secured our noodle dinner and two spots at the bar.

Vadim was pleased to see us. He happily filled our requests for drinks, including presenting me with my own purified water to drink along with MacCready's beer, and even stayed to chat briefly until the demands of the locals took up too much of his time. As soon as we had finished our meal, we left the bar to return to the room.

I had barely walked into the room when MacCready cleared his throat to catch my attention. He stood facing me, with a very serious expression on his face, lit only by the light from the bedside lamp. “We need to talk.”

Nervously, I turned to face him. “Um, okay,” I responded trying to still the sinking feeling in my gut, “Is there something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, not at all.” He didn't appear to notice my sigh of relief. “I've been wanting to talk to you, and now is as good of a time as any. After helping me get Duncan's cure from Med-Tek, I figure I owe you something. And I always pay my debts.”

“Mac,” I began firmly, “you don't owe me anything. I owe _you_ for sticking with me for so long. I know Hancock duped you into this contract with such a vague time frame... you're too valuable a fighter to be traipsing along behind me.”

He shook his head vigorously. “Nu-uh. A contract is a contract. Besides,” he grinned slightly, “I'm having too much fun; shooting stuff, making caps, traveling the Commonwealth, sleeping somewhere other than the ground. It's a damn sight better than my time with the Gunners. But that's not the point.” He went serious again. “You helped me save my son. I don't know if I can ever repay you for that, but...” he trailed off, looking suddenly determined.

Reaching into his pocket for a moment, he held out his hand, a small wooden toy soldier balanced in his palm. “Here. I wanted you to have this.” He continued as soon as I had picked up the well-worn toy. “I know a carved toy soldier is a strange reward for risking your life, but this one's special... it means a lot to me. My wife Lucy gave this to me right after we met. I... I uh, told her I was a soldier and she made it for me.”

 _He's giving me something his wife made for him? Something so precious he keeps it on him all the time?_ I felt tears sting my eyes at the thoughtfulness of his gift. “You're... giving this to me?” I cradled the toy gently in my hands, overwhelmed with emotion. “Thank you so much, Mac. This is a remarkable gift. I'll treasure it.” Feelings I had been holding back, been ignoring, burst in my chest, and I closed my eyes against the rush of emotion, trying to deny what I had come to realize... how I truly felt about him.

He was continuing to speak as I struggled to contain myself. “Seems fitting to give it to you, a real soldier in the Army. I never could bring myself to tell her the truth... that I was just a hired killer. The soldier story was the best thing I could come up with. I didn't want to lose her because of what I was.”

“Did she ever find out?” My voice was quiet, not wanting to break the moment.

“No. I'll always regret not telling her the truth. Damn, I miss Lucy.” He sighed in remorse, shifting his weight a little, running his fingers through his hair. “No matter how bad things got, she was always there with a shoulder to lean on. It gave me... well, it gave me the courage I needed to press ahead, to never give up no matter how bad things got. When she died, I thought that feeling was gone forever.” His voice had dropped, gazing at the floor in remembrance. Before I could reach out to comfort him, he looked up, his crystal blue eyes holding an expression that stabbed deep into my soul. “Then I met you.” A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, and I felt my whole body tremble in reaction.

“You had your own problems; lost and scared, unarmed, unarmored, completely unprepared for life out here in the Commonwealth, and yet you insisted on helping me... lending me your shoulder like Lucy did. I just want you to know how much you... your friendship means to me.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat at his words. I gently set the solider figurine down on the bedside table, turning it to face the room just _so_ , summoning my courage as I did so. Then, in a fit of irrational daring, I stammered out, “I... I was hoping...” steeling myself for the inevitable rebuff and the awkwardness that would follow, “maybe we could be...” my breath faltered on the last few words, “more than friends?” I glanced at the toy soldier like a talisman, closing my eyes briefly and hating myself for allowing my growing affection for him to get out of control. _Face it, you feel more than just affection for him._ My emotions were a knot of strong feelings burning deep in my core, and I was just waiting for his rebuff.

There was a long quiet pause, and I was about to turn around to crawl into a miserable lump on the bed when-

“Do you mean it?” His voice was almost inaudible, and he cleared his throat before speaking a second time. “... about wanting to be more than friends?” He had an expression of wistful longing I had never seen before. There was a naked look in his eyes, a hunger and a deep pain, and a swirl of strong emotions all caught in the cool crystal of his gaze that pierced my heart.

I held my breath, my whole body fluttering, and a deep ache started to grow in my belly. I nodded, barely moving my head, gazing almost pleadingly at him He slowly moved towards me, as if steeling himself to do so. “I-” he began, voice hoarse and strained with emotion, “ I mean, you know about me- what I am. I don't really know what to say.”

 _He's upset. I blew it. I am such an idiot._ “You don't have to say anything,” I replied in a low dejected voice. “I'm the one who said too much.” My fingers twisted back and forth in nervous frustration and resignation at the imminent rejection. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and continued, looking anywhere but at that face, those impossible eyes I wanted to drown in... “Fuck it; I may as well say it all. I care about you, Mac-”

“Call me RJ, Anne.” A warm hand grasped mine, stilling my fingers. Shivering, I looked back up and into into those miraculous eyes of his, windows to the battered soul hidden deep inside. His voice caressed my name, the first time I had ever heard him speak it. A low throaty chuckle followed, “It stands for 'Robert Joseph.' That's my full name, Robert Joseph MacCready.” A final gift, the gift of his name.

“RJ,” I repeated, and his hand squeezed mine gently. “I- I love you, RJ MacCready.” _There. I said it, admitted it. “I love you.” Three words that will forever change my life, again. Now, no matter what happens, however this ends, if and when I go home, he knows I love him... for whatever that's worth._ A single tear escaped, tracing down my burning cheek, and I ducked my head in embarrassment.

His calloused hand reached out to trace the line of my tear, shifting to cup my chin gently between long dexterous fingers. Tipping my head up, his thumb brushed away the moisture from my cheek, the warmth of his caress chased by the cooler air in the room. He slowly leaned in until his face was mere inches away, close enough for me to feel the radiant heat from his skin, just before touching his lips to mine.

My whole body caught on fire, kindled with his kiss. Gentle at first, he pressed in more insistently, cupping my face in both of his hands, fingers moving to tangle in my hair. One arm trailed down to the small of my back to pull me closer. His lips brushed past mine, leaving a line of nibbling kisses across my face to nuzzle into the hollow behind my ear. The tickle of his light beard sent a shiver of desire down my back to explode deep in my core. “You have _no_ idea how long I've wanted to do that.” he murmured, a light laugh threading through the low rumble of his melodic voice.

I shivered as he pulled away to gaze at me. “You have? Why didn't you say anything?” I asked curiously, drinking in the vision of his face in the low light, studying every shift of expression, every twitch of those amazing lips.

He smiled, a loving smile that lit up his face in a gentle glow. “Too damn wrapped up in the past, I guess. I have Daisy to thank for setting me straight, actually.” His voice was low, rueful. “She's sharp. She could see how twisted up I was getting inside, trying to deny how I felt about you... the guilt of holding too tightly to a painful memory for too long. I'll never stop loving Lucy... though she's now been gone longer than we were together.” He ducked his head to look at his hands, recapturing mine as he did so, adding, “Daisy told me, 'If you can't go back, then maybe you should try moving forward.'” He raised my hand to his lips, lightly kissing each of my fingertips.

“I... I can never go back, it's true.” His eyes glittered with unshed tears. “The past is done. Maybe, just maybe I can find the courage to move forward... with you. You're like my own personal angel, helping me be a better person like I promised.” He smiled gently, and wiped his eyes. “Now that I know how you really feel about me... it was definitely worth the risk of saying something. For once in my life, everything's going right and I have you to thank for it. I don't think anyone in the world could ask for a greater gift than that. I love you, Anne.”

He took my hand, guiding us over to stand next to the bed. I went willingly, almost dizzy with relief and our mutual attraction. Standing next to the beckoning mattress, he again leaned in for a lingering kiss, wrapping his arms almost possessively around me in a loving embrace. I tucked my arms under his, grappling his shoulders, pulling him as close as I could to feel his warmth, his strong wiry body against mine. Breaking free when we needed to come up for air, he smiled sensually, tracing one loving finger along my cheek. “You saved me, from myself. I- I'd like to show you how grateful I am... if you'd let me?”

I closed my eyes and nodded, trembling with my own desire. “Please. I would like that... very much.”


	37. Journey to the Prydwen

We woke up later than we had planned, still lovingly entwined from the night before. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, MacCready commented dreamily, smiling, “This is a lot nicer than sleeping on the couch. Warmer, too. Ready to face the day?”

After heading out of Diamond City, I decided it was still early enough to stop in Hangman's Alley to check in on the settlers there. The headman was quite happy to see us, handing me one of the ubiquitous data files, this time from Preston Garvey. “This came in with one of the provisioning runs. Orders were to give it to you if you showed up here.”

“Thanks a lot. How are you holding up?” I took the file, putting it away for later.

“Pretty good, actually,” the headman replied with a proprietary look around the growing settlement. “We've managed to set up enough shelters and beds for everyone, and we've been trading some of the gear you left when you took the place for crops and other essentials from Sanctuary. It's a good start, and we're hoping to build more soon. The Minutemen really came through for us.”

We wrapped up our visit quickly after that exchange, wanting to get to Cambridge as quickly as possible. With more regular travelers on the main roads, the wildlife was less of a danger, but we had to keep our eyes open for raiders and other scavengers. On the way, I took a moment to play the file Garvey had sent while MacCready kept watch for trouble ahead, allowing me to concentrate.

“Sarge, this is General Garvey. Thanks to your help, the settlers at Hangman's Alley were the third group agreeing to join the Minutemen. We contacted a farm near to Sanctuary as well, who can provide crops to our growing community in exchange for Minutemen protection. I'm so proud to see the dream of a safer Commonwealth coming true, one settlement at a time. On this data file, Sturges figured out how to program a radio frequency to connect to that Pip-Boy of yours. It will allow us to contact each other. I will keep you updated on our progress in growing the Minutemen, and let you know if there are any nearby settlements that could use a hand. Thanks again, Sarge. Garvey out.” My Pip-Boy's RADIO tab was looking quite full at this point, the new line “MinMen” appearing underneath the rest.

MacCready rolled his eyes, “How is he supposed to know if we're near a settlement that needs help?” he asked sardonically.

“I suspect that 'nearby' means 'anywhere in the greater Commonwealth.'” I tried to reason things out in a way that would sit better with my partner's sensibilities. “After all, we need to be out and about if we're going to not only help people, my preferred method to pay Hancock back, but we also need to find a Courser. Might as well spread the word about the Minutemen too, while we're at it.”

He gave me a long, searching look as we strode along. “Is this all part of some grand altruistic goal of yours?”

I shrugged. “I guess. Why not? There's nothing wrong with trying to make the world a little better off than you found it, sowing the seeds of hope for a better future.”

“You know, Boss, sometimes you just go way over my head. You should look out for yourself. How is this going to help you get home?” His eyebrows lowered in a grim expression as he scanned the terrain ahead.

“I don't know if it will. Karma works in weird ways. But I do know it makes me feel good knowing I helped someone who needed it.” At this statement, I moved over to give MacCready a quick affectionate nudge with my shoulder. “Like a certain mercenary I know.”

He laughed a little, lightening up. “Point taken, though if you want to feel good, all you have to do is ask me,” he said with a wink and a leering grin. His chuckle deepened as he noticed the flush creeping across my face, and my increased pace.

We entered the outskirts of Cambridge to see the Police station had been greatly enhanced. There were several more Brotherhood soldiers in and around the building, most performing their duties in power armor. The barricades and initial fortifications had been reinforced, and a Brotherhood vertibird helicopter stood on the roof, lending its intimidating presence to the outpost.

“Looks like the cavalry arrived,” MacCready commented neutrally. “Wonder what they're going to do with all these additional reinforcements.”

“Help the Commonwealth, I hope.” I quirked my lips at his cynical snort. “Maybe we can get them and the Minutemen to work together,” I mused quietly.

“Now that's the impossible dream, Boss.” His tone was pure skepticism.

“Hey, it could happen!”

As soon as we came within sight of the main gate, a Brotherhood Knight in full power armor challenged us. “State your names. What business do you have with the Brotherhood of Steel?”

I snapped to attention to address the Knight, to MacCready's unveiled amusement. “Anne and MacCready. Paladin Danse requested our presence.”

“Roger that,” he turned to call behind him. “Knight Sohal, please let Paladin Danse know his visitors have arrived.” He turned back to us. “Wait here.”

“Can we at least come inside the gate?” MacCready asked a little sarcastically. “I'd rather not be out in the open like this. We're sitting ducks for a sniper.”

“Negative.” was the formal reply. “No civilians without an escort. If Paladin Danse requested your presence, he needs to accompany you.”

I sighed and turned to whisper to MacCready, “Maybe I _should_ have joined them. At least then we could go right in.” Speaking a little louder over my shoulder at the gate guard, I commented a little snarkily, “Then it's a good thing that the Brotherhood has completely cleared out the area of feral Ghouls... with absolutely _no_ assistance from any passing civilians whatsoever.” The unnamed guard shuffled his armored feet slightly, but made no reply, and I couldn't see his face inside the helmet. Sighing, I stepped over to lean my back against the fortified wall.

We didn't have to wait long, fortunately. The resounding clank and thump of moving power armor announced the arrival of Danse long before we heard his crisp military tones. “At ease, Knight. Allow our guests to enter the perimeter. They are under my authority and protection, is that clear?”

“Yes, Paladin Danse,” the gate guard saluted. “Anne and MacCready? Permission to enter the outpost is granted. Ad Victoriam.”

“Thank you, Knight.” I said, knowing he was just doing his job, but happy to be inside the protection of the compound at last.

Danse was standing in the exact center of the courtyard area, in the same intimidating power armor, minus the obscuring helmet. _Does he ever get out of that thing?_ I wondered, remembering he had slept in the exoskeleton when we were last here. He smiled broadly as we approached, declaring, “I got your message last night. Looks like you made good time to get here.” He gestured to the roof of the police station. “I have a vertibird ready to take us to the Prydwen as soon as the crew fires it up.”

“The Prydwen?” I asked him.

Danse beamed with pride, his voice ringing with conviction. “The Prydwen is the airship you may have witnessed arriving a few days ago. It's our mobile headquarters in the Commonwealth; truly amazing, isn't it? A triumph of Brotherhood engineering.” He gestured for us to precede him into the augmented police station. “You've been awarded a unique honor to board her. Usually we don't allow civilians inside Brotherhood installations.”

Passing through the station on our way to the roof, we noticed several more Brotherhood members inside. The separate rooms had been cleared of debris and fixed up into a much more livable space. More terminals had been set up, each with a Scribe busily typing away. A very quick peek into the side office showed several double bunks had been installed where there were only a couple of sleeping bags before. “You've been busy since we've been gone.” I remarked as we ascended the stairs.

“We're working hard to make this a proper installation,” Danse replied. “If the Brotherhood is going to be a benefit to the people of the Commonwealth, we need to have our own command post in the area.”

“What kind of benefit are we talking about here?” asked MacCready irrepressibly, an edge to his voice. “Benefit to you in your goal to hoard technology or benefit to the common person just trying to make a living?”

“I don't know how you think the Brotherhood of Steel operates, but the one thing we never do is murder innocent civilians; I don't care what sort of technology they're sitting on!” Danse glared at my partner, and I gave Mac a warning shake of my head, _don't push him_.

The young merc shrugged one shoulder in a half-apology. “I'm glad _you_ feel that way, I guess,” he muttered. “I just have direct experience otherwise from my time in the Capital Wasteland.”

“We may need to discuss this further, but now is not the time.” Danse conceded. “Just know that I, Paladin Danse, have taken an oath to protect the people of the Wasteland.” He stepped out into the light of the rooftop. “Looks like we're just about ready to go.”

The vertibird's rotors were just starting to spin as we approached the vehicle. We held back a few steps as Danse strode over to speak with the pilot. “Um, Boss?” MacCready asked, swallowing nervously, staring at the vehicle that would take us to the giant airship hovering over Boston Airport.

“What's up, MacCready?” He grabbed my arm, and his face had gone pale. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Never flown before,” he admitted, hanging back. “Hell, I don't even like boats, they make me nauseous. I prefer to keep my feet on solid ground, you know?”

I looked from him to the waiting vertibird and back again. “Do you want to stay here?” I asked him earnestly, pulling us aside in order to give his hand an encouraging pat when none of the others would see. I added quietly, so as not to be overheard, “If you don't want to go, I'm not going to make you. Danse seems like an honorable guy, especially after that little speech of his,” I chuckled ruefully. _I don't want to go without him, but if he gets motion sick..._

MacCready gave me a flat look. “Of _course_ I'm going. What kind of bodyguard would I be if I let you go up there alone?” he retorted. “I'm just a little nervous about it. What if we crash?”

“Let's hope we don't,” I answered. Turning my body to shield us from view, I took MacCready's hand in both of mine, giving a quick kiss to his knuckles. “I'm sure the pilot is trustworthy. Just look straight ahead through the cockpit windows if you get nauseated, okay? I'll be right there with you.”

“Guardian angel, huh?” he murmured, recapturing his hand, and giving me a nervous quirk of his lips in response to my encouraging smile. “All right, Boss. Let's do this.”

MacCready sat between me and Paladin Danse on the center bench, stiffly pressed against the bulkhead behind him and staring intently out the front windows. As soon as we started moving, I tucked my hand under his elbow to provide what comfort I could without calling attention to it. The flight was uneventful, if a little rougher in comparison to the few helicopter flights I had been on in the Army. Of course, the flights I took in the Army weren't in a combat zone with a Brotherhood of Steel Knight aiming a minigun out the side doors, either. Every time it spun up to fire upon unknown targets, I jumped at the additional sound. The second time it happened, I felt my hand being squeezed against MacCready's ribs, and I glanced up to see his wry half-grin, even as he continued to stare fixedly out the front window. I squeezed his arm back in silent thanks.

Once we reached the Prydwen, Paladin Danse escorted us off the veritbird onto the landing platform, but acceded to my request to allow us to enter the command deck once we had gotten our wits about us. He graciously clanked off inside the airship to find Elder Maxson and set up our meeting with him. My partner had stalked to the end of the steel grate platform, leaning his elbows on the guard rail, staring out over the city to the west. I joined him, giving him a quick glance to see if he had recovered his equilibrium from the flight. He winked at me, which I took as a good sign.

Looking out over the city, Boston looked completely different from the vantage point of the airship. The nuclear devastation and 200 years of neglect had left their mark. It was heartbreaking to see the ruins of what used to be a beautiful landscape, and I sighed sadly at the thought of all those people who had been killed just going about their daily lives. A light nudge against my shoulder brought me back from my somber reverie.

Pointing out towards the distant horizon, MacCready bantered, “Look, I can see my house from here!” He looked so utterly pleased with himself at that groaner of a joke that I couldn't help but giggle. “Ready for this, Boss?” he asked, turning to escort me into the Prydwen, his demeanor shifting back into bodyguard mode.

“I guess so. Hopefully, they're going to be able to help.” I took a deep, bracing breath of the sea-laced air, oddly almost free from the pervasive metallic odor I had gotten so used to in the city. “Let's see what Elder Maxson has to say.”


	38. Elder Maxson

We had only just entered the foredeck chamber of the Prydwen when Paladin Danse gestured for us to be quiet and follow him. He led us to a meeting room of some sort, filled with Brotherhood soldiers standing in formation, being given a rousing speech. We quietly stood back from the doorway as the leader of the group, Elder Maxson I presumed, addressed them, pacing dramatically back and forth, his powerful voice filled with conviction and fervor.

“Beneath the Commonwealth there is a cancer... known as the Institute, a malignant growth that needs to be cut before it infects the surface. They are experimenting with dangerous technologies that could prove to be the world's undoing.”

I blinked in surprise. _Didn't these guys just get here? How do they already know so much about the Institute?_ Maxson's disdain for the organization went far beyond any of the other opinions I had heard thus far as he warmed into his tirade.

“The Institute Scientists have created a weapon that infiltrates our very existence. They call their creation the "Synth," a robotic abomination of technology that is free-thinking and masquerades as a human being. The notion that a machine could be granted free will is not only offensive, but horribly dangerous. And if it isn't harnessed properly, it has the potential of rendering us extinct as a species.”

 _Huh, that's not how the Railroad described them. According to Desdemona, the Synths are more like sentient slaves, just wanting to live free. It doesn't square up._ I stole a glance around. The Brotherhood soldiers standing in formation were facing away from me, so all I could see was the proud set of their shoulders and the lifted chins as they responded to the impassioned speech of their leader. Paladin Danse was drinking in every word of the speech, standing at attention. MacCready had a very contemptuous look on his face, not bothering to hide his disgust at the rhetoric. _I think I'm with RJ on this one_ , I thought. _Now I know where Rhys got his belligerent attitude. There's some serious prejudice going on here._

Maxson was wrapping up his speech. “I am not prepared to allow the Institute to continue this line of experimentation.Therefore, the Institute and their "Synths" are considered enemies of the Brotherhood of Steel, and should be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. This campaign will be costly and many lives will be lost. But in the end, we will be saving humankind from its worst enemy... itself.Ad Victoriam!”

In unison, the other soldiers including Danse saluted by bringing their right arms across their chest in a ritual movement. “Ad Victoriam!” they thundered, before being dismissed to their previous duties. In the press of their departure, I squeezed myself against the bulkhead next to MacCready to stay out of their way. I doubt any of them even noticed our presence.

Danse beckoned us inside the meeting room as soon as the way was clear. Now that I was able to see Elder Maxson a little better, he made a vivid impression. Dressed in a fleece-lined leather coat that only emphasized his impressive muscular physique, he towered over my completely average height. Black hair and beard were immaculately groomed, and a long pink scar raked down his right cheek to his jawline. His light blue eyes looked both too old and too young in an odd dichotomy, shadowed by thick bushy eyebrows, darting around to scan his surroundings in a manner that spoke of a less confident man than his previous speech indicated. I guessed he was about the same age as MacCready, and probably had been forced to grow up just as fast. _Hmm, if he's young, he may be able to be reasoned with._

Danse saluted his commanding officer, introducing us. Elder Arthur Maxson indicated we should take a seat on one of the small couches in the corner of the room. I took a seat, but both MacCready and Danse remained standing; MacCready taking up a guard position behind me, and Danse wisely not trusting the couches to the weight of his power armor. Settling himself on the couch opposite mine, he began without preamble.

“Paladin Danse informs me that you are in possession of advanced technology. You are willing to grant the Brotherhood access to this technology in exchange for assistance returning to your home, which is apparently not in the Wasteland.” He poured himself a shot of whiskey, offering it to the rest of us. I declined, as did Danse, but MacCready took a small shot with a curt nod of thanks. “Due to your assistance to the Brotherhood and Paladin Danse in particular, I granted this meeting and have asked Proctor Ingram to stand by. She's our resident technology expert.”

“Thank you, Elder Maxson,” I said gratefully. “We do have some additional information about the device.” At his interested nod, I continued. “I have it under good authority that there are actually two different systems contained inside, one from my world and the other is undoubtedly Institute manufacture. They're apparently talking to each other, but we can't decipher the programming language.”

Maxson sipped his whiskey, thinking deeply for a moment as I trailed off. “We're here because of a unique energy reading recorded by Paladin Danse's recon team. According to our Scribes the reading indicated a level of technology that only the Institute could achieve.” He pointed to my Pip-Boy. “That was shortly before you showed up with this... mechanism, which you now say is partially Institute manufacture? I am deeply concerned that it connects directly into your body.” He frowned. “The technology they have at their disposal is frightening at best, and they will stop at nothing to further their own ends. How can I be sure that you're not able to be controlled by the Institute through your Pip-Boy?”

“Probably because I don't think they can.” Thinking hard, I tried to reason with the man sitting across from me. Even with MacCready, and possibly Danse on my side, if Maxson wanted to imprison me, I doubted I'd be able to stop him on his own ship, with his own troops backing him up. “Look, the Institute Synths we ran into didn't even seem to realize I was carrying their technology until they picked up on a signal it broadcasts when it triggers, a very short range signal. Only then did they react by trying to kidnap me.”

Danse added to my story, “And we made sure to eliminate all Synth presence from the area. So I doubt the Institute is even aware the technology is in the Commonwealth at all.”

“And if they _do_ suspect it's here,” I warmed to my reasoning, “and are able to control me, they would have done it by now, especially after our mission to ArcJet. After all, why bring me here just to run around unsupervised if they could just take over my mind and send me straight into their own forces?”

Maxson was quiet for a long moment. He swirled his glass, taking a small sip before answering. “I suppose that makes sense. However, I would prefer you to be under Brotherhood authority with such an advanced and unknown technology on, well technically _in_ , your person.”

I stiffened at the implication. “I hope you're not suggesting that I'm to be a prisoner of the Brotherhood of Steel.” Behind me, I heard MacCready shift his rifle, setting his glass down. “I'm currently here of my own free will, by your invitation, offering you access to my Pip-Boy in an exchange of potentially beneficial favors. I have a lot more to lose here than you do.”

“How so?” fenced Maxson. “I see before me a person who may or may not be an unconscious agent of the Institute, in possession of unknown advanced technology, which is a potential threat to the Brotherhood.” He stared at me with a direct, challenging gaze.

“Depending on what machinery you have on board, you can download the entire contents of my Pip-Boy, rape away each and every one of my memories,” my voice grew ragged with emotion for a moment, and I felt Mac's hand brush my shoulder briefly in support, “and still not be able or willing to help me get home, leaving me with no family, applicable skills, or support system in the Commonwealth to survive.” I knew I was exaggerating that last part a bit, but I wanted to drive home to this headstrong young man that I was risking my whole identity just for the chance to get home. “Hell, you could electronically overcharge the embedded wires in my body, killing me very painfully if you had a mind to. So yes,” and I glared at him, meeting his gaze with a challenge of my own, “I have a lot more to lose than you do right now.”

Paladin Danse protested. “You are under my protection. I won't let anyone hurt you, not even our own.” He addressed his superior officer, “I vouched for her, Arthur, which means I have determined she's a benefit to the Brotherhood. Don't you trust my judgment?”

Maxson glanced briefly at the towering paladin and I saw a flicker, just a moment of uncertainty in his expression. “I do, which is why I agreed to allow these civilians on board in the first place. However, I want to arrange some kind of agreement if we're going to continue to associate with each other.”

“All right.” I said. MacCready relaxed his stance a trifle. “I'm perfectly willing to work _with_ the Brotherhood of Steel, even if I can't join your ranks.” A slight smile lifted the corner of my mouth as I suggested, “when I was in the Army, we had civilian contractors who occasionally worked with us. They weren't Soldiers themselves, and outside of the regular chain of command, but would report directly to one of the officers.”

“Fine,” Maxson acknowledged. “Since he vouched for you, and offered to sponsor you, Paladin Danse will be your main contact with the Brotherhood of Steel. Danse, I trust you to make suitable arrangements to benefit both parties. Give her the title of...”

“Sarge,” suggested MacCready drolly. “After all, it's what the Minutemen are calling her. Might as well be consistent.” He ignored my quiet groan. _I am seriously going to get him back for this._

“You have contact with the Minutemen, Sarge?” asked Maxson, his waning interest recaptured.

“I do, Elder Maxson, and we may be able to work out some equitable contracts to benefit the people of the Commonwealth, if everyone is in agreement.” My initial exasperation at MacCready's impudent comment evaporated with the prospect of garnering an amicable relationship between the two factions. _Ha, and he thought it was just a pipe dream. We'll see._

“An intriguing proposal that I'll have to seriously consider.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “But for now, Paladin Danse will take you to Proctor Ingram to see what we can find in that device of yours. Dismissed.” With that last command, he settled back into the couch sipping his drink and staring out the windows.

Paladin Danse saluted with a crisp “Ad Victoriam” before ushering us out into the foyer area again. “All right, Proctor Ingram is in the back bay where the power armor repair stations are. Follow me.”


	39. Further Examinations

The Prydwen was a marvel of technological engineering. The airship reminded me of nothing more than a downsized, floating aircraft carrier. It was enormous, set in three levels, and every space was dedicated to furthering the Brotherhood of Steel's mission. On the second level where we followed Paladin Danse, the private quarters of the high ranking officers were in front, then offices and the medical bay, followed by the mess hall, all strung along a very long steel walkway. Next came a series of bays, with stairs leading up to the sleeping bunks and off-duty areas, completely out in the open to anyone walking by, though each cot had a secured footlocker at its foot. The Prydwen seemed to stretch out forever, but we hadn't reached the end yet.

I did stop suddenly at the sight of a cat making its leisurely way along the hall. “You have cats here?” I exclaimed, delighted. Crouching down, I held out my hand for the tabby to sniff, offering a quick head scratch to the animal's evident pleasure. Reluctantly, I left the cat to its own devices to continue following Danse. MacCready shook his head in amusement.

“Cats?” asked our guide. “Oh yes. Proctor Quinlan, in charge of our Scribes, is quite fond of them. We keep a couple on board for good luck.”

Finally, we reached the repair bay, a very large area near the back of the ship. Several workbenches, cargo shelves, and power armor stations stood in precise formation, occupied and busy even at this hour in the mid-evening. Behind the repair bay was the supply depot, manned by an older Brotherhood member standing inside a locked armory cage. The whole thing reminded me of nothing more than a compressed Army base, but with a lot less privacy. _If we're here long enough, I don't relish having to sleep on a cot in an open bay._

Danse approached a red-haired woman wearing power armor. Hers was not as well plated as our guide's, being more of a basic exoskeleton. When we got closer, the reason became quite clear as both of the woman's legs had been amputated well above the knee. Yet she moved confidently, obviously quite used to the mechanical assistance. “Meet Proctor Ingram, our lead engineer,” he began.

Once the initial introductions were over, Proctor Ingram took instant charge of the situation by... marching us straight back to the front of the Prydwen and the med bay. “You could have saved yourself the trip, but I guess it's a good way to sneak in a tour of the ol' gal.” she commented pleasantly, obviously proud of her work as the engineer getting the Prydwen airborne in the first place. “Once I heard that thing attaches directly to you,” she continued, pointing at my arm, “I set up my kit in Knight-Captain Cade's exam room. We can kill two birds with one stone; scan that Pip-Boy of yours and give you a physical at the same time.”

“Why do I need a physical?” I glanced up at Danse, who shook his head slightly, which I couldn't decipher.

“Aren't you joining us?” she asked, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“No. Elder Maxson and I came to a slightly different agreement. I have other obligations.” I stated carefully. “I'm working with, not for, the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Ingram shrugged in acquiescence. “A physical is still a good idea. It'll give us an idea of what's going on in there.”

I wasn't so sure, but it was too late to object as the four of us swept in to the medical bay. Knight-Captain Cade was already waiting for us, and we made our way to the back examination room. Since the room wasn't large enough for five people, two of whom were wearing power armor, Paladin Danse stayed in the main bay. When Ingram would have protested MacCready's presence, I flatly insisted. “He's my bodyguard. He stays with me.” Mac smirked a little in triumph, folding his arms and taking a stand near the head of the padded table where I lay down for the examination. I had to take off my pack and armor to do so, leaving the items in Danse's possession, and felt much more secure with MacCready there.

Cade and Ingram busied themselves hooking both me and the Pip-Boy, which I had declined to remove, up to the various diagnostic computers. While they were distracted, I caught MacCready's attention, and he leaned over so we could talk without being overheard.

“You sure about this, Boss?” He asked, worry creasing his brows.

“Not really.” I admitted quietly, meeting his gaze. “Do me a favor, please? If I pass out, stop them. I want to be awake so I know what's happening.”

“You got it.” He looked so confident that I relaxed a little. _I can count on him._

At this point, Knight-Captain Cade came over to address me directly. “Even though you're not receiving a true physical examination, we're going to monitor your vitals while Proctor Ingram runs her diagnostics on your Pip-Boy there. She told me the program is going to stimulate the cybernetic additions in your body. I'm letting you know now that it may be quite painful, but it shouldn't do any lasting damage. I want you to tell me what you feel as it happens, and answer any questions I have to the best of your ability. Ready?”

 _No, not at all_. Glancing up at my partner one more time to reassure myself, I answered, “Go for it.”

What followed was an hour of near-torture. I didn't actually lose consciousness, as Proctor Ingram was adamant about keeping me awake and lucid, but the scanning program was just as painful as promised. It sent pulses of varying strength and duration into my Pip-Boy and, by extension, the embedded wires in my body. Mild at first, the burning oscillations built up slowly, inevitably until I was seeing stars, sweating in agony, and biting back pained screams.

During the initial phase, Cade would perform general physical evaluations, and ask me medical questions, none of which I could remember, or even answer once the pain built past a certain point. During one especially strong surge, both Cade and MacCready grabbed my hands to steady me as my muscles spasmed in response. When my partner would have insisted they stop, I weakly shook my head at him. “No, Mac. I- aah,” I gasped as another burning diagnostic pulse wracked my nerves, “I don't want to go through this again.” The pain subsided as Ingram made an adjustment, but soon built back up again. “Just get it over with,” I managed to stammer out between clenched teeth.

“You almost finished over there?” MacCready demanded angrily, still grasping my hand, “She's in a lot of pain, you know!”

“Not long now!” called Ingram. “Cade, how are her vitals holding up?”

“They're still within acceptable parameters, but the sooner you can finish this scan, the better.”

“Roger that.” And a few moments later, “We're winding down now. Just stay still and we'll get you unhooked. I'll get some of my people to look at the data we collected and get back to you.”

As soon as the burning pulses stopped entirely, Cade and Ingram swung into action, detaching the variety of sensors that had been littering my body. Proctor Ingram departed with one of the machines, promising Cade that she would return for the rest of them first thing in the morning. I clung to MacCready's hand, refusing to let go even as Cade left to fetch Paladin Danse. Mac gently brushed the hair off my sweat-laced forehead with his free hand, “That was... really difficult to watch. I hope this was worth it, Boss.”

“Me too, Mac.” The aftereffects of the constant burning along the embedded wires still throbbed painfully, where I wasn't numbed from the constant nerve stimulation. I hugged his hand to my cheek, slowly turning on my side, my limbs not wanting to cooperate. “I'm glad you were here, though. I wouldn't have had the courage to do this without you.” I felt his hand turn to cup my face and looked up to catch his brief, tender smile.

Danse briskly reentered the room, breaking the moment. He approached the table, his power armor towering over me. “That took longer than expected,” he said simply. “Knight-Captain Cade has left orders that you are to rest on the Prydwen overnight for general observation. With your permission, I will carry you as you are also under orders not to walk until you can properly control your limbs.”

I groaned. _I was afraid of this._ “Where are we going to sleep?” I croaked, hoarse and thirsty.

Picking me up as if I weighed nothing, _of course in power armor that's pretty much the case_ , he turned to make his way towards the front of the Prydwen, MacCready following on his heels. “I've taken the liberty of setting up additional sleeping arrangements in my own private quarters. You and your bodyguard will sleep there tonight.”

Paladin Danse's quarters were spare, yet still appeared cramped with two additional cots placed a couple of feet apart into the back corner by the door. His desk was nearly bare, only a couple of mechanical journals and random weapon parts scattered on its surface. The line of secured lockers against the near wall held no mementos aside from a Brotherhood of Steel flag hanging overhead. That was all the impression I got in a quick glance before I was set down to sit on the nearer of the two cots. _I suppose he spends very little time in here if he's in charge of an entire outpost._

As soon as he straightened up, Danse handed me a small packet and a can of purified water. “Knight-Captain Cade gave you some tablets to help with the aftereffects of the diagnostics. Take two now, and two more in a couple of hours if you're still in pain. They're best with food. With your permission, again,” his mouth quirked in amusement, “he also told me, in very strict terms, what you're allowed to have from the mess hall that won't strain your system. I'll be back as soon as I have secured a meal for all of us to share in here.”

Once the door closed behind the clanking form of our unexpected roommate, MacCready sauntered over to the second cot, pushing it flush to mine with a wicked grin on his face. “You're here overnight for observation,” he said in a sly attempt to justify his actions. “This way, I can observe you... closely.” At my amused laugh, he came back around to my side of the newly-doubled cot to give me a quick hug and a kiss to the tip of my nose, mindful of my pain. “It's going to be hard enough not having any privacy with that tin can in here, angel. I'm not going to give up sleeping next to you without a fight.”

“No fights from me, RJ.” I said, smiling up at him as he explored the tiny room. “Can you see if there are any, ah, facilities attached to his quarters?” Now that I was no longer actively sweating, I felt absolutely filthy. My legs were still mostly numb, so standing up to take a shower wasn't a possibility, but I could at least wipe off with a soapy washcloth if I could get some warm water. “I'd love to clean up a little if I can.”

Danse's private quarters did indeed have a tiny bathroom tucked in behind a small door by his own bunk. It wasn't much, but between sponging off the worst of the grime and taking the prescribed tablets, I was feeling better by the time our benefactor returned with our meal. He set up an impromptu table between the chair from his own desk and our doubled cot, raising his eyebrows at the alteration without commenting.

The meal looked quite good, military rations cleverly integrated with fresh local produce and meat, all cooked with reasonable skill. Unfortunately for me, I had to watch my partner and my Brotherhood contact dig into the delicious dinner as the bowl in front of me held only a nourishing soup. Knight-Captain Cade was right about my abused system, though, and the soup was a perfect easy meal for hydration as well as assuaging my hunger. A soft, fruity, sweet dessert put the cap on our dinners.

“MacCready, is it?” asked Danse. “You mentioned you had some difficulties in the past with the Brotherhood of Steel? I think now would be an excellent opportunity to have that discussion.”

Danse and MacCready launched into a long conversation about the Brotherhood of Steel and their history and reputation in the Capital Wasteland. I listened passively, tucking myself under the blankets to curl against my partner's back as he sat on the cot with a beer, telling a slightly edited story of his time in D.C. and his personal hardships trying to survive as a young man out on his own, and how the Brotherhood of Steel had made things even more difficult for him and others he knew. He never mentioned his wife or son, memories that he kept close to his chest, focusing instead on the general atmosphere of the area. Again, I marveled at what RJ had survived, what difficulties he had overcome, how courageous a person he was to have gone through so much so young, and still managed to keep a strong sense of self, and even a sense of humor, however childlike it was at times. I loved him all the more for it.

To his immense credit, Paladin Danse listened closely to MacCready's story, only asking questions at first. One Mac had finished his tale, the paladin told us a brief version of his own story. Danse, too, had come from the Capital Wasteland, originally a junk vendor in a place called Rivet City, but had joined the Brotherhood at a relatively young age, rising through the ranks through hard work and an unwavering dedication to the Brotherhood's mission of “collecting technology, exterminating abominations of nature, and bringing a message of stability to the people of the Wasteland.” He had been devastated when the former leader of the Brotherhood had passed away, but was fiercely loyal to Elder Maxson, and was determined to follow his vision for taming the Wasteland. I found Danse's blind loyalty difficult to swallow due to Maxson's extreme prejudices against non-humans, the so-called “abominations of nature”. MacCready apparently held a similar view, especially considering his friendships with the Ghouls in Goodneighbor.

When the two men started debating the merits and evils of the various kinds of encounters in the Commonwealth; human, non-human, mechanical, and animal, I drifted off to sleep. Only when the lights had gone out and I felt MacCready pull me close from the other side of the doubled cot did I wake briefly.

“Did you solve the ethical issues of the Commonwealth?” I murmured sleepily, turning over and snuggling into his warm embrace.

He laughed slightly, very quietly. “I don't think so, but not for lack of trying.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “At least he listened.”

“Well,” I laced my fingers in his, tucking myself against his side, “you're worth listening to, love.”


	40. Tentative Alliance

The next morning we prepared to depart the Prydwen. After a very welcome shower in Danse's minuscule bathroom, we made our way to the mess hall for breakfast. Proctor Ingram gave us a preliminary report of her findings while we ate. “I can confirm the Institute origins of your Pip-Boy. We have been able to prove to our satisfaction that it is you controlling the device, and not the other way around. That was part of the test from last night. I apologize for the painfulness of the assessment, as we were initially unaware of the extent of your cybernetic enhancements. The programming we were able to decipher- and it didn't exactly want to cooperate -seems designed to amplify the execution of your thoughts, making your body move accordingly for the situation, like picking locks. For those few actions it invokes, it pretty much makes you a temporary expert, which is quite a feat of engineering. If we had such an enhancement for our own fighters, it would make the Brotherhood a truly unstoppable force.”

Ingram didn't notice the apprehensive look I exchanged with MacCready, and continued on. “I can also tell you that those sensor cathodes encompass your entire body, head to toe along your nerve conduits... it's quite impressive, and certainly gives me a lot of material to research into cybernetic enhancements,” she added, motioning to her own mechanical assistance for her missing legs. “The results of our examination are fascinating, and a valuable addition to our technical arsenal. I want to personally thank you for bringing this device to our attention.”

“You're welcome,” I replied, a little subdued. “So, can you figure out how it brought me here, or how I can get home?”

The engineer frowned. “No. All of _that_ information seems to be contained inside the section of your device that came from your own world. We couldn't break the coding, but we'll keep trying.” She paused for a moment, tapping her fingers in thought. “Speaking of location, we do know the Institute code has sampled your DNA as part of its programming, and it appears to be keeping it in part of the MAP section, in addition to your STAT screen, which is decidedly unusual.” She shrugged, an action rendered quite impressive through her power armor. “I wish I had more to give you, but our main focus was making sure you weren't an Institute sleeper agent.” Straightening up, she added before heading back to her duties, “if we find out anything relevant to your search, I'll have Paladin Danse contact you. Good luck getting home, Sarge. Ad Victoriam.”

Shortly after Ingram left, Elder Maxson called us in to his meeting room for a final meeting before our departure. Danse was already there, along with a couple of other Brotherhood members I hadn't met. The meeting was rather enlightening, as Maxson had given serious thought to my proposal to have the Brotherhood of Steel work with the Minutemen. Together, we sketched out a plan proposing the Brotherhood Knights help defend Minutemen settlements in exchange for supplies and fresh food. I was able to send a message to General Garvey through my Pip-Boy that we would arrive in Sanctuary via vertibird with Paladin Danse to discuss the suggested alliance with him.

While waiting for his reply, Elder Maxson made it quite plain that if I were to request additional help from the Brotherhood, I would have to earn it. Since we were going to be exploring the Commonwealth anyway, we may as well keep our eyes out for technological items of interest. A short list of desired items was soon added to my Pip-Boy, as well as the suggestion that if we were to perform missions for the Brotherhood, it would strengthen our reputation with the faction and make it more likely for them to cooperate in the future. We would not go uncompensated in the meantime, and MacCready gleefully stepped in at that point to negotiate the fees for our assistance to the Brotherhood of Steel as civilian liaisons.

 _Quid pro quo, the life of a mercenary, I guess._ _At least we'll be earning a decent living if we choose to work for them._ Having enough caps on hand to resupply and keep our gear in good shape was important, and I was very glad MacCready had experience in those matters. _I just wish we had a more permanent base of operations than a hotel room, somewhere we could stay in between journeys and store extra gear. It's tough living out of a backpack._

As the negotiations were finishing up, my Pip-Boy chimed with a response from Garvey. “Looks like we're good to go, Elder Maxson, Paladin Danse,” I said, listening to the message. “They'll be looking out for us.”

“Outstanding. Grab your packs and we can be ready to depart in ten.” Danse clanked out of the meeting room to collect the vertibird's crew.

Flying across the Commonwealth from the Prydwen to the Minutemen settlement at Sanctuary gave me a fair amount of time for reflection. The days were hard to keep track of, but I figured I had been in this new reality for just over a month. _It's actually a bit like Basic Training, where you're torn down and rebuilt into a whole new person in the span of nine weeks. A lot can happen in just a month, especially when everything is so much more raw and intense. I'm not the same person I was when I arrived, and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing._

Outside the open bay doors, the ruined landscape passed by, dead trees surrounding a ruined city that was just barely recovering from the ashes of its annihilation two centuries before. Were the trees really dead, or just dormant for the winter? Were there latent seeds of hope for the population too, or was I striving for an impossible dream of peace, as my companion believed? _Why am I bothering to try and improve this place if all I want to do is go home?_

 _Because I can't stand to see people suffering._ I jumped as the minigun pointing out the door suddenly spun up, firing into the distance at some unseen adversaries. _I hate violence, as much as I may have to engage in it out here. What kind of person would I be if I_ didn't _try to help?_ The weapon wound down, targets eliminated or out of range, and I was glad when we soon circled around to touch down just outside of Sanctuary. Paladin Danse, MacCready, and I exited while the rest of the crew departed for Cambridge.

Garvey and Sturges were standing at the entrance to the expanded settlement and the General of the Minutemen swept me into a friendly hug as soon as we reached them. He passed me to the mechanic for another bone-crunching welcoming hug as he shook MacCready's hand and formally welcomed Paladin Danse into Sanctuary. This _is why I try to help._ My resolve firmed at the thought of these wonderful people, and all the good they did. They deserved to have a chance at a better life. _MacCready might have called me his personal angel, but Preston Garvey is the real angel in the Commonwealth._

Sturges was his usual upbeat self, keeping a friendly arm around my shoulders as we walked further into Sanctuary, following Garvey and Danse. “We've been busy making this place a real settlement! Wait'll you see the improvements we've made, and meet all the new residents. The Minutemen are coming back to the Commonwealth, stronger than ever!” MacCready walked beside me on the other side, a thoughtful frown creasing his brows. Nearly all of the houses had been fixed up, and there was even a communal building for dining and settlement events with smaller side rooms for offices, located near the center of the former housing development. It was a truly impressive amount of work in such a short time, and I made sure to let Sturges know. He grinned proudly, then pointed to my arm, asking, “Get any new insights on that fancy Pip-Boy of yours?”

“Quite a few, actually. We've had a couple of different people run some tests on it.” With that, I gave Sturges a quick run-down on what the Railroad and Brotherhood found, without going into too much detail. He guided us through the main community hall, and into a smaller meeting room, then whistled in admiration when I finished.

“That's quite a story, Sarge! I woulda never guessed all of that was in that little thing. Give me a generator or a nice set of power armor to work on any day!” He motioned for us to sit down at the table to join Garvey who had already taken his seat, and Danse who stood next to the table in his own power armor.

“You repair power armor, civilian?” Danse inquired, interested.

“I do! Used to have a sweet little set up in Quincy working with the Atom Cats garage before the Gunners ran us out of town.” He gave Danse a friendly smile. “Sturges is the name, and if you wanna talk power armor, you'll find me in the maintenance bay next door.”

To my surprise, Danse returned the smile with a broad one of his own. “Outstanding. I think that comparing notes would be an excellent use of time. Thank you, Sturges.”

“Any time! I'll just get on with my duties and leave you to your meeting.” With a cheery wave, he left.

Our meeting went rather well, Garvey being cautiously optimistic about a mutual agreement with the Brotherhood to exchange military assistance for raw materials and produce from the farms under Minutemen purview. “After all,” he said fervently, “we're supposed to be helping the people of the Commonwealth. If the farmers and traders know they can count on the combined forces of the Minutemen and the Brotherhood, it will benefit everyone.” He grew serious for a moment. “However, I am concerned with the Brotherhood's attitude towards non-humans, particularly friendly Ghouls and sentient machines.”

Danse grew very still, standing stiffly at attention. “The Brotherhood of Steel is dedicated to the extermination of abominations of nature. That is part of our overall mission.”

“And when it concerns rampaging Super Mutants, _feral_ Ghouls, or even dangerous irradiated wildlife, I'm all for it.” agreed Garvey, his expression stern and unyielding. “But we have residents of our settlements who are Ghouls, and even a sentient robot or two. They are under the Minutemen's protection. If we are to have this agreement, I want it spelled out to your forces in plain, unmistakable orders that friendlies of all kinds are to be left alone.”

“I agree with Garvey on this one, Danse.” I spoke up, and MacCready nodded. “There are plenty of dangerous adversaries in the Commonwealth to fight without going after people who are just trying to get along.”

“They're not people...” Danse protested, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“No, Danse. They're not _human_ , or not really any more in the case of Ghouls. But they _are_ people; they're humane.” I glared at his uncompromising, closed expression. “I've run into humans who act less like people than some of the Ghouls I've met. Like on my very first day in the Commonwealth.”

“I will not compromise on the safety of the residents.” Garvey repeated. “Non-human members of our settlements are to be left in peace, or this alliance will be dissolved.”

“Is it really that difficult, Paladin Danse?” I asked, seeing the color rising in his face. “Life is a series of compromises. You need to think for yourself, not just parrot Elder Maxson's unrealistic prejudices. You may not like non-humans, but if they're not a threat, leave them alone. You do that, and the Brotherhood not only gains a better reputation with the people of the Commonwealth, but you also secure fresh supplies for your troops.”

Paladin Danse was quiet for a very, very long moment, looking back and forth between the three of us. Finally, he sighed in resignation. “Fine. I will issue orders that all residents, whether human or not, in Minutemen settlements are under equal protection. It goes against Brotherhood training, and I'm sure Elder Maxson will have his own thoughts on the matter. But, you're right. It is a compromise we need to make to keep the Brotherhood relevant in the greater Wasteland. Protecting the people of the Wasteland is the _primary_ goal for our order, on that we agree.”

The next discussion concerned the number and location of the Minutemen settlements, and who had surplus rations the Brotherhood could use. There was a large map on the table that both faction representatives pored over, placing markers and making their own notes. Garvey then called me over to his place at the head of the table, and marked my Pip-Boy's MAP page with a number of locations- allied settlements, proposed locations, and even a couple of places known to be settled, but in need of help. Looking at the many new markers on the screen, it looked like MacCready and I were going to be kept very busy. We could help out while trying to track down an Institute Courser, not only building our reputations, but making it more difficult for the Institute to hide. _Maybe I can arrange a separate deal between the Minutemen and the Railroad to help escaped Synths_ , I mused. _I doubt the Brotherhood would be willing, so we can keep them out of it._

“Thank you, Paladin Danse, Sarge.” Garvey said at the end of the lengthy discussion, standing up to motion us out the door. “I hope this is the first step in a new era of peace for the Commonwealth. Now, let's go get some grub.” The smell of cooking food had been permeating the last hour of our meeting, and we were all hungry.

Dinner was a cordial affair. The larger central hall was set up as a general dining facility, with a serving kitchen on one end and tables scattered about. MacCready and I took our meals to a couple of seats in the corner of the room, staying out of the way, and Danse clanked over with his own tray. While we were eating, he handed a small grenade-sized item to me and a second one to MacCready. “I didn't get the chance to pass these along before, Sarge. They are vertibird signal grenades. If ever you are in immediate need of transport, toss this into an open area and the Brotherhood will home in on the special electromagnetic smoke and send a vertibird to your location.” We took the grenades, placing them carefully in our ammo pouches.

“Wow, Danse,” I replied in awe. “This is really remarkable! Thank you very much.”

“I was only able to get one each for you. They are in short supply, but as Brotherhood allies I was able to convince Teagan to release them. Use them only in an emergency.”

Soon afterwards, Sturges eagerly joined us, engaging our associate in a long conversation all about power armor and other mechanical wonders. The discussion was entertaining, but mostly went over my head. I took the time to people-watch, noticing the increased number of actual Minutemen-in-Training and their families. The settlement under Garvey looked to be growing and thriving, and that gave me hope for the future of the Commonwealth.

When the hall filled with diners, I nudged MacCready and we both stood up to allow others to use our places at the table. Sturges looked up from his conversation with Danse and waved us over for a moment. “Hey, the house you were using before is occupied now, but there's a couple of empty places up the street in the cul-de-sac. Um, try the light blue house to the north. Couple beds inside, a lamp that works, no heat yet but plenty of blankets.” He leaned in to whisper to me, “I hope you don't mind if I commandeer your Brotherhood friend here; he knows a lot about mechanics!”

I smiled at Sturges' enthusiasm at meeting a like-minded fellow, whispering back, “Commandeer away! I wouldn't mind the privacy, since we don't really know him all that well. And thanks!” Giving him a hearty pat on the back, we left the dining hall to find our proposed refuge for the evening.

The house was easy to find. It didn't look as finished as some of the others, but the walls were repaired, and the roof looked intact. Inside was bare, swept clean save for a couple of double beds piled high with scavenged blankets. A small bedside table stood between them with a desk lamp jury-rigged to light the main room in a gentle glow. One low dresser stood against the far wall. I gratefully removed my pack and armor, placing my weapons on its distressed wooden top.

As soon as the door had been secured against intrusion, MacCready strode over to wrap his arms around me in a fierce embrace. “That's better,” he sighed contentedly, once we had satisfied ourselves with a long, lingering kiss. “Last night was pure torture, being next to you but not daring to do anything.” He pulled me in close, tucking my face against the curve of his jaw, arms warmly supportive.

Just as eagerly, I pressed into him, turning to kiss the side of his neck and giving his ear a quick nuzzle. “Think we can make up for it tonight?” I asked in a low, husky tone, my hands eagerly memorizing every inch of his lean, muscular body in a loving, passionate caress.

A lustful chuckle rumbled up from his chest, “I don't know, angel,” he said with a smile, “but we can certainly try.”


	41. Earning Trust

Our departure from Sanctuary late the next morning was the start of several weeks of constant movement. We initially returned to Cambridge with Paladin Danse aboard a vertibird, but soon left to traverse the Commonwealth's northern borders, aiding settlements in the name of the Minutemen, and bringing them into the growing network. On assignment for the Brotherhood of Steel, we cleared out a couple of buildings infested with feral Ghouls in order to locate technological artifacts for the Scribes.

As part of our arrangement with Paladin Danse, Knight Rhys tasked us with hunting down a nest of Super Mutants located in a hospital not far from the Brotherhood outpost, a mission I was certain he thought was probably too difficult for our abilities. MacCready had ground his teeth audibly when the scant details were given to us and he nearly punched the cocky _(pot, meet kettle)_ Knight in the face. It took all of the rapport we had developed between us for me to calm Mac down. Once I had pointed out that the best way to annoy Rhys was to complete the mission despite the overwhelming odds, MacCready practically dragged me off into the frigid Commonwealth to clear out the target in record time.

Super Mutants were tough in small numbers, and we were extremely hard pressed to take out an entire entrenched contingent inside a fortified building, especially when they were supported by robotic machine gun turrets. The only good thing about this assignment was that we were in a hospital, able to stock up on stimpaks, Med-X, and bandages. The scattered caches of healing drugs were the only things that kept us alive as we cleared the building floor by floor. Neither of us remained unscathed by the time we had finished dispatching the last Super Mutant. I was sporting a hastily wrapped leg and some deep wounds on my back from a lucky strike with a nail-studded board. Had MacCready not been right there with a stimpak, I doubt I would have survived. My companion was no better off, his left wrist was unusable, probably fractured, and I had had to wrap his abdomen after a particularly difficult firefight which left him with a few new bullet wounds.

“I'm gonna kill Rhys, I swear,” MacCready growled as we carefully limped our way back to the Cambridge outpost. “He just so _happened_ to forget to mention the turrets those green lunatics had set up.”

“Not if I get to him first,” I snarled in accord with his mood. “I can understand assigning us a difficult mission to test our skills, but that was intentionally setting us up for failure. Civilians or not, we deserve to know the full picture when we perform missions for the Brotherhood.” _And it makes it that much harder for me to get home. What an asshole._

Indeed, when we returned to the outpost to report our success, we made sure to fully debrief Knight Rhys and Paladin Danse in a private meeting. Rhys stood stiffly at attention, his whole demeanor one of unpleasantly shocked surprise that we had not only returned, but had been successful. Danse listened gravely to our report, pleased we had liberated the hospital from the Super Mutants, but distressed at our battered condition. We were dismissed to Scribe Haylen's healing ministrations, while Rhys was ordered to stay.

By the time we were ready to depart, accepting another mission from Knight Rhys, his attitude was initially just as obnoxious, but definitely subdued and restrained. The report he gave us was much more detailed than the last one had been, and I received it solemnly. _As long as he acts like a professional and gives us the proper information, I don't care what his private opinion is._ MacCready, taking his cue from me, adopted a cool, detached demeanor very similar to the one he showed me when we first met. We took a couple of different mission briefs with us when we left Cambridge, with the understanding that we would complete them if and when we were able.

-0-

The days and weeks started to blend in to one another as we traversed across the Wasteland. Most of the Minutemen settlements we visited only needed minor help compared to the Brotherhood missions. Tracking down resources was usually not a dangerous endeavor, though MacCready complained indignantly about being used as a pack mule. Once or twice, we were asked to stay a day or two to help defend the proposed settlement against raiders or feral Ghouls. Since the weather remained quite cold, I didn't mind sleeping in a cot by the fire. No one batted an eye when MacCready joined me. Beds were scarce in most settlements, and it only made sense to cuddle close to share warmth during the bitterly cold nights. Those evenings were like a soothing balm against the constant drive to keep moving, earn the trust of the various factions, try to find any trace of the Institute, get back _home_.

Whenever we assisted a settlement, I made sure to emphasize MacCready's fighting prowess in order to further boost his reputation with the provisioners and farmers. _Once I go home he'll have his pick of choice jobs, and people will pay handsomely for his services. He'll be set for life if he wants it._ That thought initially brought a smile to my face, but I soon felt the twinge of conflicting emotions. Despite his constant griping, which seemed to me almost good-natured by now, and more out of habit than any real irritation, MacCready was excellent company. We were getting to know each other on an almost instinctive level, strengthening our relationship as a team, both in and out of combat. And any time we had the least little bit of privacy, we took the opportunity to express our physical attraction in a most satisfying manner. My desperate homesickness threatened to overwhelm me at times, and yet it warred with the growing love I felt for my partner. My emotions were starting to twist me up inside, the two strong desires at complete odds with one another.

_I want to go home so badly, to a world not irradiated and soaked in blood._

_I miss my family, my friends._

_But I love RJ._

_No. I can't._

_I don't belong here._

_I have to get home._

Ruthlessly, with every ounce of my willpower, I squashed down on my apprehension, shoving it to the very back corner of my mind. Focus restored, I was able, just barely, to continue.

-0-

Several days later during our next sweep across the upper Commonwealth, we stopped in Sanctuary to grab some provisions. Living off the land during our travels was extremely difficult in winter, and I was having major issues trying to keep fire-cooked mole-rat chunks and mutt chops down long enough to get what little nourishment they had to offer. Eating raw food like the various types of mutated crops was a possibility, but then I had to deal with the increasing level of radiation the uncooked food contained. MacCready didn't enjoy butchering and eating our kills either, but at least he could keep them down. _What I wouldn't give for a nice skirt steak right now._

Since we were stopping by, I took the opportunity to speak with General Garvey about my proposed idea to ally the Minutemen with the Railroad in helping escaped Synths build a new life. He was tentatively in favor, as long as the Brotherhood of Steel were not going to interfere. I sidestepped the issue, pointing out that the Brotherhood had already agreed not to harass Minutemen settlers; they didn't need to know how _long_ those settlers had been in residence. Garvey was less than thrilled at the subterfuge, but MacCready was all for sticking it to the faction that had nearly gotten us killed. I accepted a compromise from Garvey that he would welcome new settlers without looking too closely at their origins- a “compromise” that was pretty much his standard operating procedure already. We just needed to contact the Railroad with the good news.

“Guess we'll head back into Boston,” I commented to MacCready as we settled in for the night in the last of the unclaimed beds set up as part of a communal sleeping room. Sanctuary was growing fast, and the settlers were hard pressed to keep up with the demand for housing. We were lucky there was still a place left for us to sleep. “My Pip-Boy hasn't let out a single squeak to indicate the presence of a Courser on our current route around the settlements. However, Scribe Haylen told me before we left Cambridge she had picked up some short bursts of high-level energy usage much closer to the city that were almost certainly Institute generated.” I tilted my Pip-Boy to show him an outlined area by the northern border of the city where Haylen had picked up the anomalous readings. Now that we had connected a reasonable number of scattered Commonwealth settlements to the Minutemen/Brotherhood defense network, we could turn our attention back to my personal goal.

He nodded, absently tracing his fingertips along the back of my hand. “Sure, we can go check it out. I wouldn't mind stopping in Goodneighbor afterwards,” he mused quietly, eyes distant. “We can stock up on ammo and see if Daisy or KL-E-0 have any new goodies they've picked up.”

Aware of the others around us and keeping my voice down, I added, “And _this_ time, if Hancock has one of his little 'parties', I'll be prepared...” giving a quietly amused snort and a wicked grin. “Maybe we can even give him something to get jealous about.” I subtly ran gentle fingers down MacCready's torso to emphasize my point.

He growled softly, grabbing my fingers to give my palm a quick nuzzle before repositioning it in a more innocent spot on his shoulder. “No way, angel,” he chuckled possessively, placing a kiss on my forehead. “You're all mine. Hancock will just have to use his imagination.”

-0-

The area Haylen had marked out looked like an old college campus. It wasn't until we had gotten close enough for me to read the faded engraving on the scattered granite blocks tumbled around the ruins that I pieced it together. “M.I.T.” I said, wonderingly. _I suppose that would make sense as a desirable target for developers of high technology._ At MacCready's inquisitive look, I would have explained, but just then my Pip-Boy pinged quietly.

“Hey, we got one!” I hissed excitedly, cradling my shotgun to flick over to the RADIO tab.

“A Courser?” Instantly, my partner was all mercenary again, lifting his sniper rifle to a ready position. “Let's get moving, Boss.”

The pings acted like radar, growing in strength and frequency the closer we got to our target. Unfortunately, not only was our target moving erratically, but the area was littered with the remnants of an entire large university's worth of destroyed buildings. We had to keep backtracking and finding ways around large piles of rubble, all while attempting to stay hidden. We also had to make sure we weren't walking into any raiders or Super Mutants, both of whom we spotted while making our way to the initial site. At one point, we managed to locate a relatively clear path down the street leading straight towards our still unseen quarry. But when we got near the intersection at the end of the street, a sudden bright flash took us by surprise, temporarily blinding both of us, and causing my Pip-Boy to squeal in reaction.

Blinking furiously to clear my vision, I simultaneously heard my partner shout in surprise and pain and the sudden silence of my Pip-Boy's locator. Before I could turn to find MacCready, I was hit in the leg with a metal baton carrying the extra wallop of a taser shock. The voltage burned along the hidden cathodes in my body, paralyzing my muscles for an agonizing moment. I fell heavily on my side, unable to do more than take in the abrupt appearance of the three Gen-1 synths between me and my partner. _They weren't here a moment ago, MacCready would have spotted them!_

MacCready was down on one knee, his sniper rifle on the street as he fired rapidly into one of the two Synths next to him with his 10mm pistol. His left hand was grappling the sparking baton the Synth was attempting to wield, trying to fend off its blows. The second Synth had stepped back to aim a laser rifle at the otherwise occupied sniper.

“No!” I screamed weakly, forcing my V.A.T.S. system to engage. Even half-paralyzed and on my side, the electronic assistance was more than enough, eventually, to cripple, then kill the second Synth with my combat shotgun while MacCready dispatched the first. The Synth who had attacked me froze for a moment as soon as my Pip-Boy's programming kicked in. Dropping its own shock baton, it roughly grabbed me under my armpits to drag me rapidly backwards, emitting a strange series of mechanical noises as it did so. I tried to bash at it with my shotgun, but the angle was wrong and I was gasping from pain and the exertion of invoking V.A.T.S. Dropping the pistol, MacCready recovered his rifle, making his usual clean head shot to stop my abductor in its tracks.

I struggled free of the dead Synth just as MacCready reached me, helping me to my feet. “Well,” I said lightly, trying to keep my adrenaline in check, “looks like we found 'em.” Leaning into my partner's support, I tilted the screen to see better, examining my Pip-Boy. Letting out a disgruntled noise, I showed him the silent RADIO screen. “And lost the Courser. Damn.”

“What was that flash?” he asked, scanning the immediate area for additional threats. As soon as my legs were steady enough to stand on my own, he let go to retrieve his pistol, holstering it.

“I don't know, but it felt... familiar, somehow. It also made my Pip-Boy freak out.” Tapping the device, I reassured myself that it had taken no harm from the encounter, the screens all appearing to work properly. “I never heard it make _that_ sound before. And I'm certain those Synths weren't there before, either.” I straightened my glasses, giving them a quick cleansing wipe.

“They weren't,” MacCready confirmed. He picked over the three bodies, stowing the loot we could carry in our packs. “They just... appeared.”

“Yes.” a new voice, a hesitant light tenor, called out from behind a nearby pile of bricks. “They can do that.”

We whirled to face the speaker, guns raised.

A man slowly stepped out into view, hands raised in surrender. He was a little taller than MacCready, of completely average build, with a pale complexion and short brown hair. He was wearing a very unusual white and gray jumpsuit with red sleeves. A small logo of a humanoid figure with limbs extended was embroidered on the left breast of the suit. “Hello,” he said, nervously, keeping his hands up. “Would you happen to know the way to Bunker Hill?”


	42. Unexpected Rescue

H3-27 was my first introduction to a runaway Gen 3 Institute Synth. He had escaped the Institute with nothing more than the jumpsuit on his body and a message to go to Bunker Hill. How he had escaped had been wiped from his memory in order to keep the secret from being discovered by the Institute. I instantly felt a surge of compassion and affinity for this poor person, lost and alone in the Commonwealth. He had the added difficulty of being hunted by a superior organization, a problem I fortunately had yet to have. Figuring this was probably the best stroke of luck we could have encountered, next to dispatching the Courser of course, I sent an intentionally cryptic message, _Deacon will love this_ , through the RRoad channel letting them know we were headed their way with our charge.

Convincing MacCready to help get a babe-in-the-woods Synth wearing an outfit guaranteed to draw attention all the way to Bunker Hill was a different story. He showed me where it was on my map, pointing out that we'd have to traverse some of the most dangerous areas in Boston to get there. “You've got to be fuc-- err, freaking kidding me, right?” he moaned dramatically, gesturing in real anger when I proposed escorting H3-27 ourselves. The subject of our discussion was sitting a short ways away, out of earshot, staring up at the ruined buildings in awed wonder.

“He needs help, MacCready, just like I did when you agreed to be my bodyguard. He'll never make it alone.” I could tell my appeal was going to be less than successful when the emotional shield snapped up, hooding his expression.

“I was _paid_ to guard you, and paid pretty damn well for the initial contract. You were wearing reasonable clothing to blend in, I was able to get you a weapon that you could use, _and_ we weren't stuck in the middle of a hostile area when I took the job!” His voice was quiet, but snarlingly intense, crisply snapping off every word. We glared at each other, our base natures at complete odds for the first time since we met. “Your crazy altruistic drive to save every last pitiful sap in the Wasteland is going to get us both killed!”

“He's not just any 'sap,' you know,” I hissed, furious. “He's an escaped Synth from the Institute. You know, the guys we've been trying to track down for information? Information that is my best chance of getting home?”

Cold blue eyes bored into mine. “Information you need from a Courser, not a mind-blanked escapee. Information that's worse than useless if you're dead. You thought the hospital Rhys sent us to was bad? Boston proper is practically a suicide trek if you're not completely at the top of your game and on constant guard. Trying to save this one Synth is not worth getting us killed!” He gritted his teeth. “Look, Boss, I'm here to protect you. I'm telling you right now that it's too dangerous for us to get to Bunker Hill from here with him tagging along.”

“So we go carefully. You're the best gun in the Commonwealth. With our help, I'm sure H3 will be...”

“No, Boss.”

“Fine,” I snapped, reluctantly giving in. _If he's that certain, I need to trust him._ “But I hope you realize he's probably going to follow us anyway. And since the Institute is already hunting him down, we'll have to deal with that too. Whatever we do, we have to get him out of here. We can't just leave him, it would be tantamount to murder.” I turned to face him, standing a few feet away. “Of course, you could make it quick and kill him in cold blood right now, just for being here, for wanting to live his own life.” I didn't have to elucidate how such an action would ruin our partnership, our relationship, forever. _God, I need to get home._

MacCready groaned, slumping his shoulders and lowering himself into a defeated crouch, his sniper rifle clutched in front of him. “Damn it.” A sharp _whack_ echoed from the stone walls around us as he pounded the butt of the gun against the ground in an excess of emotion. “How do you do it, Boss?” he asked, voice cracking, suddenly sounding very young and unsure. “How do you make me see things from that point of view? I- I never would have bothered before.”

Slowly, I stepped around to kneel behind his slumped form, reaching out to gently rub his trembling shoulders. “The same way you convinced me that we need to find another way out of here. If it's the truth...” I shrugged. “We're both stubborn, but we also trust each other; balance each other out, you know? Together, we can find a solution, I think.” With one final caress, I stood up, offering my hand to my partner. “Let's see what we can do.”

In the end, we crafted a plan to hoodwink the Brotherhood into giving us and our escaped Synth acquaintance a ride straight to the Railroad without them realizing it. We sacrificed our spare outfits to give H3-27 something to wear that blended in with the general citizenry, stowing his jumpsuit in our packs. H3 listened intently to my quickly sketched out instructions while MacCready scouted the area for a large enough clearing to use one of our precious vertibird grenades. By the time we heard the deafening whir of blades, we were ready. MacCready and I carried our “unconscious” companion onto the craft, waving off any offers of assistance.

When directed to fly to Bunker Hill, the pilot was initially dubious until I related our completely fabricated story about a kidnapping and the grateful family awaiting the safe return of our charge. “He's sleeping off a couple of stimpaks,” I explained, “wasn't in the best of shape when we found him, and the sooner we get him home, the better.” I gestured to the minigun pointing out the open side door. “Take a direct route and we'll even thin out some of the menaces on the way.”

For the chance to wield a powerful airborne weapon with impunity against his enemies, MacCready determinedly swallowed down his motion sickness. He cackled with fiendish glee, sweeping the minigun in deadly arcs across the pavement, leaving a wake of destruction amid Super Mutants, feral Ghouls, and raiders alike. It was watching catharsis in action, seeing my partner able to take out his adversaries with no apparent risk to himself, and I smiled slightly to myself while keeping a hand on H3-27's prone form.

“Okay, _that_ was totally worth the nausea,” MacCready whooped as we stepped away from the departing vertibird, “carrying” H3 between us. Bunker Hill's obelisk was within sight and, as soon as the aircraft was out of view, we let go of the Synth so he could walk the last distance under his own power. Following at a short distance, we entered the walled trading post that had sprung up around the obelisk.

H3-27 stopped short as an older gentleman approached him. Speaking too low for the two of us to hear, he guided the awestruck runaway Synth behind one of the trade counters in the corner, nodding to us in thanks. I paused to give my partner a glad smile. “See?” I asked him, surreptitiously catching his fingers in my own to give a quick one-handed squeeze, “Didn't that feel good? Helping someone who needed it?”

He shrugged one shoulder, muttering halfheartedly while staring at the ground, “I guess so. As long as you're happy, that's good enough for me.” Looking up, the corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile as he continued, “It would have been better if we got some caps out of it.”

Before I could point to our bulging packs in response, Deacon spoke up from behind us, his lilting tenor as amused as ever. “I dunno, merc, you did a favor for us, and sometimes the goodwill is even better than caps!”

“Hello, Deacon.” I spoke over MacCready's disgruntled snort.

“Heya lady-from-another-world,” he grinned, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Got your message. Nice work bringing him here. I especially love how you wrangled the Brotherhood of Steel to give you a ride all unknowing they're helping the Railroad rescue a Synth. That'll be one in their eye if they ever figure it out.”

“Let's hope they never do,” I said solemnly. “I need to stay on their good side too, Deacon.”

He flapped his hands dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't worry, it's not like I have Elder Maxson over for coffee or anything. Though I do hear they have some fantastic rations on that ship of theirs.” To MacCready's consternation, he drew us aside, placing his arms around our shoulders in a conspiratorial manner. “Look, I need to debrief our newest rescue before we smuggle him out of the Commonwealth. Tom sent me with a list of questions on top of the normal interview. Take your sweet time, but make your way back to HQ so we can catch up with the latest intel on your little forearm computer friend there, okay? I'll let Dez know you guys are coming along... eventually.”

“Got it. We can do some trading while we're here.” A hearty clap on my back was all the reply Deacon gave before he slunk off to meet with H3-27.

MacCready was in his element again, haggling with the various trading stands to get the best barter from our loot. One of the traders even had a sniper rifle, which gave me an idea. I purchased it along with enough ammunition for my weapons to fill the thigh pouch. My partner raised an eyebrow when he saw the second firearm slung over my shoulder as we made our way behind the trading stands to a ramshackle outdoor bar that had rooms for rent overhead. We took our seats just as the bartender came over, which caused Mac to break out in a wide grin.

“Son-of-a... is that Joe Savoldi?” He laughed in delight. “Joe! How the heck are you?!” _Does MacCready know every bartender in the Commonwealth?_

“No way! MacCready?! I haven't seen you in ages.” Joe gave MacCready's hand a hearty shake. “You still riding shotgun for the caravans?”

“Nah. I quit doing that a long time ago.” He shook his head, explaining, “It never paid enough, and I hated being a sitting duck.” Pointing at me, he added, “I'm under contract to this lady here.”

Turning, Joe gave me a measuring look and a welcoming grin. “Hope you're paying him well. He's a hell of a gun to have at your back.”

“I aim to please,” bragged my companion with a grin at his cleverness and a quick wink at me. I felt my cheeks heat up, causing his grin to deepen.

Grabbing us a couple of beers “first one's on the house for my old friend,” he leaned in to comment conspiratorially, “Well, if she ever cuts you loose, look me up. I can fix you up with some work.”

“I'll keep that in mind, Joe. Thanks.” He shot me a sheepish look, but I was inwardly pleased that his reputation was good enough to have work lined up after I went home. _Whenever that will be._

We sat at the bar while the light faded, drinking beer, eating some form of vaguely edible dinner, and chatting with Joe and his son Tony. Father and son had an ongoing argument about the intentions of the Institute and their Synths. Joe wanted nothing to do with either of them while Tony argued the Railroad's position of Synths-as-people. Even as close as they were to a Railroad point of contact, they were unaware of it, which spoke volumes about how good the agents could be. When asked our opinions, I remained neutral, not wishing to get dragged into what was obviously a family argument. MacCready nodded in approval at me when Joe's back was turned, also giving non-committal answers when pressed.

It soon became obvious that we weren't leaving that night, and Joe suggested, “If you need a place to stay, talk to my boy. The rooms aren't much, but it's somewhere to lay your head.”

The accommodations were indeed not much more than a mattress surrounded by four walls, and we were fortunate that the weather wasn't as frigid as it had been. It was still necessary to cuddle together, not that I was complaining. MacCready was much more demonstrably affectionate once the door had closed, shutting out the rest of the world.

“So,” he mumbled, nuzzling my shoulder as we relaxed on the mattress. “Want to tell me about your newest purchase there?”

“The sniper?” He nodded. I squirmed a little in hesitation before replying. “I was thinking, since we're supposed to take our time getting back to the Railroad, maybe we could use the opportunity to...” I felt my cheeks heat up, not quite sure how to proceed with asking him to help me do something so generally out of character for me.

“To?” His eyes gleamed devilishly as he teased his hand along my side, pulling a giggle from me.

“Don't distract me, RJ.” I managed between giggles. Grabbing his hand to make him behave, I gave him a quick kiss on his grinning lips before continuing. “To clear out the area between here and the Old North Church of... violent opposition?” His muscles tensed in surprise.

“Hmmm...” he murmured, growing still as he pondered the idea.

“In other words, would you teach me how to use that sniper rifle?” Snuggling closer to his body, I ran massaging hands down his shoulders and spine to his obvious pleasure. “Please? After all, you're the one who said it's smarter to hit your targets from long range...”

“So I did,” he said, arching into my caress. He chuckled a low rumble, nipping my earlobe. “It's not fair, angel, asking me anything while you're doing this.” A groan left his lips as I reached lower, grabbing the curve of his throat gently in my teeth as I did so. “Of course I'll... hnnrrr... teach you. Everything I know.”

Nothing else needed to be said.


	43. Lessons in Sniping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that spurred the archive warning for extreme violence. Heads up if you're especially squeamish.

We started at the top of the obelisk. After demonstrating with his own beloved sniper, MacCready helped me set up my new rifle, teaching me how to brace it for long-range sweeps of the scope. When we located our first target, a mutant hound, he guided my arms, pulling the butt of the gun snugly against my shoulder, hands overlapping mine cradling the barrel. We breathed together, his chest against my back, timing the trigger squeeze for the natural pause at the end of an exhale. Even knowing I had V.A.T.S. as a backup, I was stubbornly determined to learn how to use the weapon properly without it, when the danger was less. _After all, I have a trained sniper willing to show me how to use this thing properly._

The first round hit, but only crippled the beast. Quickly, I lined up a second shot, which crumpled the stationary animal's head into a bloody mess. “Not bad,” MacCready assessed, “you're not using your Pip-Boy, are you?”

I shook my head. “I'm trying to learn not to. If those Institute Synths can home in on it, the less I use it, the better.”

“Huh. Good point, though don't hesitate to use it if you need to.” He stood up to scan the visible area with his own scope. “Better to use it and stay alive. We can deal with the Institute response if and when it happens.” Lowering the scope, he motioned for me to pack up. “Nothing else out there from this vantage point. Let's move along to another one, Boss.”

Moving from rooftop to rooftop, we traversed the general route from Bunker Hill to the Old North Church, taking out any opposition we saw from our greater vantage point. The benefit to sniping from such a lofty position was that our targets, mostly Super Mutants this close the center of Boston, were unaware of our location, and would generally mill around in confusion, allowing us to take our time lining up the best shots. _The downside to sniping from on high_ , I thought, wheezing as we ascended yet another flight of creaky steps, _is having to climb up and down so many stairs. My legs are going to be so sore tomorrow._ MacCready had already set up at the corner of the roof, the lessons quickly escalating into a friendly competition between us.

“All right, Boss,” he grinned. “Looks like we have a camp of Super Mutants blocking the street over that way.” Waiting for me to set up, our rifles adjacent, legs touching as we took advantage of the same sight line, he whispered, “The church is the next building over from that one over there, so this should be our last fight before we reach it. I hope Desdemona will appreciate what we're doing for the Railroad with a little tangible thank you.” He rubbed his finger and thumb together in an obvious monetary gesture. “I can't buy ammunition with goodwill.”

“We'll just have to see, Mac.” Relaxing into an almost trance-like mental state, I whispered, “Sight on the one by the burning barrel. Ready?”

“Born that way.”

“Take 'em out.”

The _crack_ of our sniper rifles heralded the usual boiling confusion as our targets scattered, trying to locate the enemies who had just taken out one of their own. At first, I focused on crippling the giant green humanoids, knowing they were too tough for anything but a perfect head shot to kill them instantly. If they were unable to move, however, I had the time to fill them with rounds. MacCready, living up to his reputation as the best gun in the Commonwealth, took out three times as many targets in less time, using much less ammunition. Once the last of the visible Super Mutants had fallen, we concentrated on scanning the area around the blockade for any survivors.

“Anything?” I asked my companion. I hadn't seen any movement, but MacCready's eyesight was vastly superior to mine.

“No. All clear.” He grinned avariciously, “Let's go grab the loot.”

“I don't think so, rookie!” A deep gravely voice called out from directly behind us. Simultaneously, a boot connected with the side of my head, stunning me. Through the haze of pain, I was vaguely aware of my arms being wrenched behind my back. _Raiders!_

MacCready tried to roll to his feet, but a gunshot immobilized him as he clutched desperately at his leg with a scream. “Shot my knee out!” A second shot cut his yell short and he crumpled to the rooftop, crimson blooming under his body.

“MACCREADYYYY!”

Shrieking in agony, I thrashed violently, trying to reach him without success. In my head, one word endlessly repeated in a frantic fugue, _no no no no no no no..._ Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked.

“Grab those rifles and the girl. Leave the dead meat,” the voice ordered, ignoring my sobs. My wrists were bound tightly and I was dragged away by my arms, face down, stunned, in shock, desperately trying to struggle, to fight my captives. I was gasping in reaction, seeing my partner, my friend, my lover, left crumpled in a pool of blood on the cold roof. Another blow to the back of my head had me seeing stars. “Shut the fuck up!”

“No!” I screamed, rage and pain and anguish shrieking through every word. “ _No!_ Let go!” I kicked out frantically, trying to get purchase with my feet, to slow our movement, to get free. _It happened so fast! Oh, RJ... No! He might still be alive! I have to get back there!_ I hooked one foot around the railing of the stairs my unknown captors were descending, stopping us from moving further away from MacCready. “ _Fuck you!_ Let go of me!” I held on as hard as I could, trying to jackknife my body free, ears ringing.

“Such language from a laady,” the deep voice laughed nastily, echoed by at least two others. “Listen here, you little goody two-shoes bitch,” he hissed into the back of my drooping head as a vicious kick freed my foot and we started moving again. “You and that paid gun of yours can't just go traipsing around downtown 'cleaning up the Commonwealth' without consequences. You waltzed into _my_ building, _my_ territory, and didn't even pay the toll.” He briefly dipped his face into my blurred field of vision; rough brown stubble framed a ruddy complexion and a gap-toothed evil grin. Black eyes glittered with drug-fueled emotion, surmounted by wild eyebrows and long, shaggy hair. “You're gonna pay now, sweetheart,” and his slurred voice dripped with menace.

We turned into a short hallway leading to a series of rooms. The man who had been carrying me roughly tossed me into a bare corner in the last of the rooms, arms still bound behind my back. I curled into a fetal position, wracked with tearing sobs, the physical pain a bare echo of my emotional agony. _What does it matter now?_ I thought. _Trying to help the Commonwealth, ha. MacCready's alone, dead or dying, and it's all my fault. I'm as good as dead as soon as these assholes get bored with me._ _Why..._

My spiraling thoughts were cut short as the leader strode over to cut my wrists free, tearing the pack from my back as he did so. Any thought of fighting back was immediately curtailed as he grabbed my left arm to haul me up to my tiptoes, using his free hand to backhand me across the face. “Shut it, bitch!” He prepped for another strike, then paused, staring at my arm. “Ho-ly shit!” he exclaimed, shoving me back down, but keeping hold of my left arm in both hands. “Hey boys!” he called excitedly, “We just struck it rich! Lil' miss do-gooder here has a Pip-Boy! And it's a super fancy one, too!”

A group of four raiders joined their leader as he wrestled with the fasteners holding the device to my arm. One of the other raiders, a nearly identical copy of his boss's rough, drug-addled living, put me in a headlock to keep me still. As soon as the raider boss managed to unclasp the armband, he pulled the Pip-Boy free.

At least, he _tried_ to.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, tugging again at the device. Though the armband dangled free, the Pip-Boy itself remained attached to my forearm. I felt the pull through the pins that invaded my body, an unpleasant pressure deep in the marrow of my bones. “What the fuck are those?” the leader asked intelligently, finally noticing the buried cathode wires in my hand. “Got ourselves a fuckin' Synth or something!” A harder tug on the casing resulted in nothing more than an additional painful jolt radiating up my arm from the buried pins.

“Synths don't have Pip-Boys,” one of the other raiders ventured. “Only Vault dwellers.”

“Fine! A Vault Synth for all the fucks I give.” He snarled, lifting me by the Pip-Boy, letting me hang dazedly. _Damn he's strong. Gotta be the drugs._ “Point is, a fancy Pip-Boy like this one will get us enough PsychoJet to last a year! Just gotta get it off of her.” Hauling me up to bring his face closer, he spat at me, “You can take this thing off, yeah?”

I shook my head, not daring to answer aloud. My breath was coming in short gasps due to the growing pain in my arm and head. _I guess it can't be removed unless I want it to be. Serves those assholes right for killing Mac--_ Another sob escaped my throat and I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with grief.

“Fucking bitch,” he snapped suddenly, dragging me back into the bare corner. “Hold her steady,” he ordered two of the others while he disappeared from view for a few moments. When he returned, arms full, I knew I was in trouble. A handcuff was snapped around my right wrist, the other end linked to a bare pipe exposed through the crumbling drywall. A second cuff tightened over my left wrist, pulled taut with a chain looped over one of the ceiling joists, and the end tied off. I was compelled to sprawl ungracefully in a painful half-crouched position, left arm angled upwards. Suffering from an almost certain concussion, I could barely focus my eyes from the pain in my head. _I can't think straight._ _This is happening too fast!_

The raider leader grabbed my raised arm in one hand, laughing in a low, menacing tone. “If you can't _take_ it off, I'll just have to remove it _for_ you.” Suiting action to words, he brutally jammed a flat-bladed screwdriver in between the casing and my arm. Heedless of my tortured screams, he pried viciously up on the casing, gouging the blunt tip of the tool into the flesh of my arm over and over, trying to find purchase. Blood seeped out from underneath the Pip-Boy to run down my arm into the fabric of my shoulder. His first attempts futile, he stabbed in from a different angle, then from the other side. Each time, he gouged further into my flesh with the dull blade, trying to pry the device free with brute force.

Trying yet a different angle, he stabbed in towards the center of my arm, finding the line of pins anchoring it in place. With a triumphant grunt, he pried up while twisting the screwdriver to try and slip between the thin line of receivers in my arm. I was panting in agony, weakly thrashing against my bonds in a futile attempt to stop the pain. The trickle of blood expanded to a steady flow when the raider boss finally yanked the screwdriver out from within my flesh with a curse, throwing the ineffective tool across the room. And still the Pip-Boy was locked in place. Furious, my torturer stomped away to join the others. _Fuck you, I'm not letting it go!_ The thought snarled up even as my vision grayed out briefly.

When my sight returned, I saw the raiders ransacking my pack, dumping it on a table to sort through the contents. The men cackled gleefully when they reached the pocket containing our medical supplies, immediately shooting up with every last stimpak and Med-X contained within. _No!_ Any tiny spark of hope I had of surviving died in the quiet hiss of wasted injectors. _Not that._ Without stimpaks to heal even the most grievous of wounds, there was no way. I slumped into the drag of the chains, my throbbing arm and the disturbing warm trickle soaking to my shoulder ignored. _Those were our only chance._

Fully healed and high on the excess painkillers, their leader came back over to me. “I want that Pip-Boy,” he snarled, a string of drool tracing down the corner of his mouth. “And I _always_ get what I want.” Giving my left arm a vicious blow that translated all the way through my battered body, he strode off towards a table piled with weapons.

 _You want it so bad? You'll have to cut it from my cold, dead body!_ A tiny spark of anger snapped inside me.

As if psychic, the raider boss swiftly grabbed a wallboard saw, a foot long thin blade tapering to a wicked point, from the table. Grinning a psychotic, drug-fueled, predatory grin, he stalked back over to stand before me, toying with the serrated blade. Almost hypnotically to my concussed mind, he waved the saw slowly back and forth in front of my blurred gaze. When he was certain he had my full attention, he maliciously took hold of my left arm, sliding the point under the casing and into my arm.

A deep furrow peeled open in its wake as he shoved the blade deeply into the tortured flesh of my arm, followed by a sawing motion as he attempted to sever the pins holding the Pip-Boy in place. The blade was so razor-sharp that I didn't feel the pain at first, only the rush of hot blood pouring from the open channel in my forearm. Once he started to saw at the pins in my arm, the pain brought me to my knees, whimpering in shallow gasps, unable to scream.

A commotion in the outer rooms distracted my tormentor from his determined sawing. I hadn't noticed when the other raiders had dispersed to revel in their drug high, and whatever was going on sounded a lot like fighting. One man stumbled into our room, limping heavily and bleeding from a deep wound in his chest. “Boss!” he managed to gasp out before a blur of motion tackled him out of view. A quick scuffle and a gurgling sigh were the only sounds I heard over my own shallow panting and the steady drip of blood onto the floor.

“Shit!” the raider leader cried, whirling to face the direction of his underling's demise, jerking the saw free in a burst of crimson as he did so.

A lean, almost scrawny bloodstained form stalked into view, tattered duster belted snugly to his slim waist. Expertly flipping a wicked-looking combat knife in one hand, he snarled savagely at my tormentor, cold blue eyes glittering in the faint ambient light. “If you let her go _right now_ , I'll make it quick.” MacCready's voice was hard, uncompromising.

“MacCready!” the name leapt from my throat. _He's alive? He's alive!_ I nearly fainted at the rush of pure relief that overcame my senses, almost missing when the raider leader reached to grab at the pistol he had tucked in the back of his trousers. Without thinking, I invoked V.A.T.S. in a rush of searing electrical pain, aiming a roundhouse kick to the side of his knee. The raider boss staggered from the blow, dropping his pistol, left holding only the bloody wallboard saw. I fought to stay conscious through the pain, the room appearing to fade into a hazy gray mist.

MacCready charged forward, combat knife a bright blur. Ducking under the hasty off-center strike of the raider leader, he brutally stabbed into the man's already injured leg, disarming the saw with ease, tossing it out of reach, and kicking the pistol away. “Slow it is,” my partner rumbled once the man was immobilized. With calculated brutality, he sliced in an arc across the man's belly, cutting just deeply enough to expose the slick twist of intestines. To my absolute shocked horror, the man who showed me such caring gentleness suddenly displayed a frightening ruthlessness I didn't know he possessed, as he grabbed a handful of viscera and pulled it out to land on the rubble-strewn floor with a wet splat. He roughly stepped around the slippery bloody mess to dig into the boss's pockets, pulling out a small key.

Disdainfully ignoring the dying man's hoarse whispering grunts, MacCready rushed over to me, unlocking the handcuffs holding my arms outstretched. As soon as my wrists were free, he grabbed me close in a fierce embrace. “I've got you, angel. I'm here. No, don't look,” he murmured, gently turning my head away from the grisly sight, tucking my face into his chest. Still reeling from his vicious display of cold-blooded killing, I instinctively tried to resist, trembling in reaction. Yet this was the man I loved, the man who just single-handedly took out a small camp of raiders to get to me. With a confused sob, I slumped into his embrace. He held me until the unceasing flow of blood from my arm became too much to ignore.

“RJ! H-how?” I sobbed faintly, overwhelmed with his presence, the tender yet firm way he wrapped my arm to try and staunch the bleeding. With my free hand, I patted at his side, his shoulder, reassuring my bewildered mind that he was here, he was really here, and really real. Trying to forget what he had done not five minutes before, I focused on his deft fingers as they held the makeshift bandages. “I saw you... fall,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.

“Not the first time I've been shot in the back,” he responded grimly. “Keep a couple'a stimpaks on me at all times, just in case.” He pressed his forehead to mine, one hand cupping my face. “Next lesson: I will always come back for you, angel,” he promised fervently. “Always.”

In what would normally be a ridiculous pose, he placed my left arm on top of my head to rest there. “Stay here for a sec. Keep that elevated until we get a stimpak in you.” The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped, and I was more than willing to just prop against the wall to regain what strength I could. Then his words filtered through my addled brain. _Stimpaks?_

“RJ?” I called hesitantly as he searched the room, recovering our weapons and packs, stowing every cap and valuable he could find in them. “There are no stimpaks. They used them up.”

“ _Dammit!_ ” he cried, voice cracking with anger and sudden panic. “Damn drug addicts!” Stomping back over with our gear restored, he stopped only long enough to kick the now-dead raider boss in the back before reaching my side. “I used mine, I _had_ to.” His blue eyes were apologetic, glittering with tears. “We have to get you out of here and to a doctor, fast.”

“Doesn't the Railroad have a doctor?” I asked, not sure if I remembered correctly or not. My thoughts were fuzzy.

“I think so,” he replied with hesitation. “If not, they're sure to have stimpaks.” Crouching down, he pulled my right arm over his shoulders, heaving me up to stand unsteadily, his left hand grasping my belt in additional support. “No, keep your arm up. I've got you.”

Through the gathering haze in my head at the change in position, I added wryly, “At least we cleared the way.” I was grasping desperately at sarcasm to keep from screaming in horror.

MacCready's smile was grim. “We have now, anyway. Can you walk?”


	44. Wounded

Deacon was waiting for us in the underground entrance to the Railroad headquarters. As soon as we staggered into view, MacCready supporting me while I fought to stay conscious and on my feet despite the blood loss, he leaped into decisive action. Slinging my arm over his neck, he swung me into his arms. “I love to sweep a lady off her feet,” he commented lightly, to Mac's immediate irritation.

“Watch it, she's injured!” my partner snarled. Even bandaged, my arm was still seeping, staining everything a sticky red.

“Bloody tie-dye is all the rage these days,” was Deacon's only comment about the mess I made of his white T-shirt as he carried me inside the catacombs. “I'll be the envy of HQ!” Moving swiftly, MacCready only a step behind, he made a beeline for the front left corner of the crypt where a couple of stretchers were lined up, setting me down on one. “Carrington, got a couple of patients for you!”

Dr. Carrington looked up from his terminal in annoyance, which faded as soon as he saw the amount of blood on both of us. Rushing over with a handheld diagnostic tool of some sort, hastily donning a pair of gloves, he pushed Deacon out of the way to begin his examination. “Definitely a concussion,” he declared firmly. “What have you been up to?” he asked gruffly, “wrestling deathclaws?” He tutted at the state of my face, which probably looked quite colorful after the number of blows the raider boss landed.

“Raiders.” I gasped out, trying not to wince at Carrington's examinations. “Tried to take my Pip-Boy, but it wouldn't come off...” Lying down had restored some of my energy, but I was still drained.

He and Deacon exchanged a look at that. “I'll get Tom,” Deacon volunteered, moving quickly out of view.

MacCready had taken up a protective position at the head of the stretcher. “They snuck up on us while we were clearing out the path from here to Bunker Hill. Stunned her and knocked me down long enough to drag her away,” he continued, his voice tight and clipped. “By the time I dispatched the rabble and got to her, their leader was trying to cut her arm in half lengthwise with a nasty looking saw of some kind.” His bloodied hands gripped the stretcher on either side of my head as he leaned forward slightly. “Damn scum used up all the stimpaks, too. I bandaged what I could, kept it elevated, but it won't stop bleeding.”

Carrington looked quite grim when he heard the whole story. “That's... not good at all.” He turned to inspect my arm, carefully unwrapping the compression bandage that was completely saturated with crusted blood. “Deacon, get back over here!” As soon as the last layer was free, a rush of warmth flowed down my elbow onto the sheets. Weakness crept in, and I started to feel a chill in the air.

“I'll help,” MacCready offered, standing back upright with a slight wince.

“Not like that you won't,” the doctor retorted. Pointing to a basin against the near wall, he snapped, “Wash quickly but thoroughly and get back here.”

By the time MacCready returned and was instructed to apply direct pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding, Tinker Tom was examining my Pip-Boy while Deacon took his own turn at the sink. Dr. Carrington set up an IV bag to help mitigate blood loss, as well as prepping a general anesthetic to be injected the moment my Pip-Boy came off. Tom was holding the device, ready to bear it off to his own station. Deacon came back over to stand a few steps away, waiting for orders.

“All right, Anne,” Dr. Carrington announced. “See if you can remove that thing. If you can, we'll have to move fast. It's providing a certain amount of pressure itself.”

Looking up at my partner for courage, I slowly reached over to unlatch the arm band. As soon as I pulled, the Pip-Boy came free with a painful tearing scrape and a spurt of fresh blood. The anesthetic took hold before I could see the full extent of the mutilation, but the men's shocked exclamations followed me down into unconsciousness.

-0-

The rocky ceiling overhead was barely illuminated in a dim flicker when I opened my eyes. The catacombs were quiet, only slight whispering noises reaching my ears. I was lying flat on my back in only a T-shirt and jeans, a thin blanket warding off the chill in the air, and my head and right wrist swathed in bandages. My left arm, too, was heavily bandaged, splinted and secured against the side of the stretcher to prevent movement. Everything was out of focus, and I realized my glasses had been removed. Craning my neck to try and locate them, I heard the quiet rustle of movement behind me. “MacCready?” I called quietly, wanting to see him, feel the touch of his hand on mine.

A sardonic chuckle answered me instead. “Sorry, amiga,” Deacon's articulate tones murmured quietly, “He's out for the count. You've been upgraded to me.” His bald head moved into view, holding out my glasses. I noticed he was still wearing his sunglasses, even in the dimly lit room.

_Bald?_

“What happened to your hair?” I groggily blurted that out before I could stop myself. Feeling the heat of embarrassment on my cheeks, I was relieved when he chuckled.

“This is my normal look, if you can even call it that.” He moved around to the side so we could speak more comfortably, one hand running over the top of his head. “I like to think it gives me a dangerous 'tough guy' impression. Is it working?”

“Not with that grin, no.”

“Darn.” He snapped his fingers in feigned disappointment. “I'll leave that to your little mercenary friend, then. He might be scrawny, but he gives off some serious 'don't fuck with me' vibes.” Leaning back against the wall, Deacon crossed his arms nonchalantly. “Maybe I can get some lessons from him while you're stuck here.” A quick glance to my right showed my sleeping partner sprawled face down on another stretcher, his back covered in bandages, a sheet tucked modestly around his hips.

“Wait? What do you mean 'stuck here'?” I tried to sit up, my bound left arm hampering my movements.

“Ah ah ah, none of that.” Deacon pushed me back down onto the stretcher. “Doc Carrington did some of his best work fixing up your arm. Don't undo it.” He reached out to grab a purified water, offering it to me as he continued. “Consider it thanks for taking care of some of the nasties getting too close to HQ. I know those raiders can seem like idiots, but they're a serious threat. You've done some good clearing them out.

“Doc also fixed up your bodyguard, despite us having to practically tie him down to do so. Even after you were stable, he was determined to stay right by your side until his injuries finally caught up with him and we could get him on a stretcher. Stimpaks are good, but they're no comparison to actual medical treatment. Do you have any idea how many bullets that kid had in him?” Deacon let out a low whistle of astonishment. “He's sleeping off the anesthetic, and you're both going to stay here until the good Doctor says you're ready to go.”

“He's not a _kid_ ,” I emphasized. “And you two are almost the same height.” _He might be young, but he's very much a man. A lover and a brutal killer both- a confusion of personalities. He had to grow up so fast..._

Deacon snorted. “He's younger than anyone else here. That automatically makes him the kid. It's the law, you know?” At my irritated glare, he merely shrugged. “Hey, I would love to be a kid again!”

I decided to change the subject. “What's going on with my arm? Why can't I move it?”

A headshake met my questions. “I can't speak for Carrington's medical diagnosis, but I can say that your arm looked like minced brahmin meat when the Pip-Boy came off. MacCready (S _ee, using his name isn't all that difficult, is it?_ ) told us about how that raider did a real number on you trying to sever the connections.” Deacon looked almost green at the memory. “Doc worked on you for hours. We think you'll have full use of your arm, but...”

“What?!” I gaped at Deacon. _I'm left-handed!_ My mind shrilled the thought. _I need both hands to fix instruments! I can't play clarinet without both arms. I can't even wield a rifle out here with only one hand. What am I going to do?_ I started to wheeze in short panicked gasps, desperately looking around as if to find a miracle cure.

“Hey, you didn't let me finish!” Deacon said quietly, snapping his fingers in front of my face to refocus my attention. “Earth to Anne! _But_ ,” he said again, “it's going to take a while. You can't move your arm right now because of the delicate work he had to do to reconnect the nerves and vessels, especially with those intertwining metal wires. If you move, it could tear everything back out again. Technically,” he sighed, “you're not even supposed to be awake yet. In fact,” he moved around to the IV setup, taking a labeled syringe and injecting it into the line leading to my arm. “Doc left this here just in case. Sweet dreams, amiga.” He chuckled as the drug pulled me back into darkness.

-0-

We ended up spending a week in the Railroad's headquarters. Doctor Carrington had devised a treatment plan alternating delicate surgery with stimpak-assisted healing and lots of bed rest. MacCready was up and about by the second day, bullet removal being much less intensive than completely reconstructing a limb from the inside out. To Carrington's annoyance and Deacon's eyebrow-raised amusement, he insisted on staying by my side, sleeping sprawled in a chair next to my head.

At the very first opportunity, I asked him about the execution-style murder of the raider boss. “I can't express how happy I was to see you,” I told him quietly, when we had a private moment one evening. “But you scared the ever-living daylights out of me when you disemboweled him in cold blood like that, leaving him to bleed out on the floor.”

He looked startled, eyes searching my face. “I don't understand. You knew I was a hired killer.”

“I did,” I nodded in agreement. “But the hired killer I know kills quickly and cleanly, one shot to the head with amazing skill. He doesn't torture his victims like a raider, letting them die slowly in agony. You stooped to _their_ level, and it frightened me.”

“He was _hurting_ you.” MacCready's expression grew stern, and his eyes narrowed at the memory. His hand grasped my shoulder fervently. “Something snapped in my head, and I just had to hurt him back. I couldn't stand seeing you in pain.”

“Oh, RJ...” I reached up to caress his face, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath my fingertips. He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand. “I love you so much.” _He's young, as Deacon reminded me. It's all he knows, this tit for tat mentality. All I can do is try to show him a better way._ “Just... keep your promise to Duncan and take the moral high road if you can.”

“I love you too, angel.” he murmured quietly into my palm, kissing it lightly. “I don't ever want you to be scared of me, okay? I'll try to do better.”


	45. Supernatural Science

The night before we were scheduled to depart, I broached the topic of allying the Railroad with the Minutemen. Deacon was enthusiastically in support of the idea. His infectious optimism brought a smile to my face that maybe, just maybe, the Commonwealth could be made better for everyone. Desdemona, too, was more cautiously in favor of the alliance, especially when I pointed out the arrangement already in place with the Brotherhood to protect all settlers, no matter their background. “I don't know how you managed to wrangle that kind of concession from the Brotherhood of Steel,” she commented with faint praise, “but if we have more protected areas to send escaped Synths, that can only benefit our cause. Good job.”

“Well, we're not exactly telling them the pedigrees of the residents, are we?” I pointed out, pragmatically. “General Garvey should be made aware of the situation, of course, but he's agreed to not look too closely into the backgrounds of new settlers, as long as they're willing to work and get along.”

“All the Synths want is a chance at a new life, away from the shackles of the Institute.” She reminded me. “A life as a settler is an honorable one, and many would be glad for the opportunity. Thank you.”

MacCready was frankly impressed after our discussions were complete. “Quite a juggling act you're pulling there, Boss.” He sat at the head of my stretcher keeping an eye on the comings and goings of the various Railroad members. “I mean, the Minutemen with Garvey in charge appear to get along with just about everyone, but to get the Brotherhood and the Railroad on the same page?” He grinned at me. “Pretty savvy.”

“I dunno. It's like a tripod...” I broke off, remembering Mama Murphy's words from Sanctuary. _“...a tripod, a sturdy base. You have found one leg, growing in strength from flesh and bone and the heart of the people. Find the other two... tempered steel and steam-blasted iron.”_ “A balancing act on three legs,” I mused quietly. “Bone and steel and iron... Minutemen, Brotherhood, Railroad.”

“What are you talking about Boss?”

I looked up into his perplexed expression. “Remember when we left Sanctuary the first time? When Mama Murphy gave me that vision?”

“You mean when she went on a babbling Psycho trip?” he snorted. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“She saw this, Mac,” I insisted, grabbing his hand to emphasize my point. “She saw the tripod of the three groups working together... and said it needed a focus? Or that I was the focus? I can't remember exactly... for a terrible weapon.”

One eyebrow quirked skeptically. “Oh, come on Boss. Don't tell me you believe that old bat!” He rolled his eyes. “Having the three biggest non-raider factions in the Commonwealth working together just makes sense, okay? You don't need a psycho psychic to tell you that!”

“Then why has no one else tried it?”

“Probably,” he smirked, knowing he had the upper hand and enjoying it, “because the Minutemen were all but decimated in Quincy, the Brotherhood wasn't here yet, and the Railroad was keeping to the shadows. You're possibly the first, and only, person to even think of trying to unite them under a common cause.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear, “and as much as I think you're a fool sometimes for trying to help every poor sap in the Commonwealth, letting your compassion get the better of you, I love you for it.”

-0-

Tinker Tom met with us shortly before we left the catacombs. With him, he carried not only my Pip-Boy, but also our respective jackets. He set everything down on the table next to our makeshift living space around the stretcher I had been using. Calling Deacon over, he waited until the Railroad spy joined us before speaking.

“I have two words for you: 'Matter transmission'.” Tom was practically bouncing up and down in vindicated excitement. Deacon raised an eyebrow, his expression otherwise unreadable behind the ubiquitous sunglasses.

“What?” MacCready demanded. “You're kidding, right?”

“Wait,” I interjected, “You mean, like _teleportation_?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Tom nodded emphatically. “That Synth you rescued confirmed it. He even worked in that department, so was able to give some details.”

“By the way,” Deacon added, “Latest update is H3-27, now known as 'Eric', managed to make it out of the Commonwealth safely and is headed north to start a new life. Go ahead, Tom.”

“Okay, here's the deal. Somehow, the Institute managed to develop matter transmitters, which is some serious technological miracle-working. That's what the Coursers are using to pop in and out when they kidnap people and kill rogue Synths!” He looked utterly pleased with himself. “It also explains why it's so hard to track them down. Get close, and poof! Gone!”

“Okay,” I said dubiously. “That explains the Coursers, though it sounds like science fiction, this matter transmission thing.”

Tom shook his head vehemently, “Believe it! It's true, we have proof! And in your case, your Pip-Boy was the beacon to guide the matter transmission. Instead of giving you the virtual reality game it promised, it 'teleported' you here in actuality. When you turned it on, it caused the Institute, and whoever they're working with, to lock on to you, using that DNA link the Brotherhood discovered.” He flapped his hands expressively. “I don't know when or how, or even _why_ they managed the initial contact to coordinate it, but you were transported between worlds- from your reality to ours!”

“Fallout 4: Actual Reality,” I said sarcastically. _But why?_

Deacon was nonplussed, taking off his sunglasses to reveal pale blue eyes widened in disbelief. “What kind of world are you from that we're just a _game_?”

I answered in a sad, desperate homesickness. “A world where we have a general level of security, compassion, and humanity to be able to pretend... to be able to say 'what if?' and develop entire industries around telling stories.” _A world I miss with all my heart and soul._ I wiped away the tear that had escaped down my cheek, digging up a faint spark of anger. “A world where I signed up to help defend that level of humanity in whatever tiny way I could.” _A world where the arts could flourish, not die drowning in blood._ I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, and knew it was RJ.

“Hey, hey, I'm sorry.” Deacon apologized. “I know you're not to blame. It just surprised me, and not much can do that anymore. I'm pretty un-surprisable as a rule.”

Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself. _Keep it together, girl._ “All right.” I nodded at Deacon, accepting his apology. “Tom, now that you know how I got here, however unbelievable it seems, is there a way I can get home?”

“Ah, that's the hard part,” Tinker Tom temporized. “I was able to go into a long-term deep scan of your Pip-Boy while you've been recovering. The signal that brought you here? Well, it was only for the Institute to lock on to. It boosted the process, but the actual science comes from the Institute.” He wrung his hands together nervously. “Only Coursers have the full programming for the matter transmission process in that chip of theirs. That squeal you heard was your device reacting to its activation frequency, by the way.”

“Which means we still need to hunt down a Courser,” I groaned. “With the added difficulty that we now know they can just bamf out whenever they want. I-” I closed my eyes for a moment, rubbing my forehead. “I need to think about this.”

“Sure, sure!” Tom agreed with false enthusiasm. “In the meantime, you need your Pip-Boy back.” With a show of reluctance, he held out the cleaned and re-padded device. “I, uh, added a bit more in the way of 'blocking the Institute' programming and stuff, just in case. Whatever it is they want, we can't let them get it.”

“Thanks, Tom.” _Time for the moment of truth._ I had avoided looking at my arm, closing my eyes whenever Doctor Carrington checked it, and leaving the bandages on. Just as Deacon had promised, I was able to use my arm and fingers fully, but I didn't want to be reminded of my torture, or the ruthlessness of my partner. _I'm still coming to terms with that side of him._ With a sigh and a quick glance at MacCready, I slowly unwrapped the bandages.

My arm was intact. That much was evident from the fact that I could use it. _Carrington handed me a miracle._ The faint ghost of the cathodes were visible, leading up to the line of pin receivers that paralleled my radius. _Why am I not more grateful?_

At a quick glance, the arm looked almost normal, but the light outlined dips in my skin where the raider boss had decimated my arm muscles, gouging out chunks of flesh. It was all overlaid with a shiny crisscross of fading scar tissue. _Well, there it is,_ I thought grimly, snapping the Pip-Boy in place with its usual pulse of electrical activation. _The Commonwealth is certainly leaving its mark on me, making me as ugly and scarred as the blasted trees dotting the landscape._

“It works,” I announced to Tom, flicking quickly through the selection screens, my voice a dead echo of its normal tones. _“It works.” That's the best I can ask for when I get home. Never been much of a looker, anyway._

Oblivious to my inner monologue, Tom beamed happily. “I have some other goodies for you.” He held out MacCready's duster. “Here, try it on.”

“It's heavier.” My partner shrugged into his coat with practiced ease, belting the material closed around his waist. “What did you do?” he asked suspiciously, rubbing the scarred leather between his fingers.

“Two more words for you: 'Ballistic weave'!” Handing me my own jacket, he explained. “It's a little side project I've been working on for a while. Woven fabric strong enough to stop bullets!”

MacCready turned to face the engineer, eyes wide. “No kidding?! And you put it in my duster?” He gaped for a moment before suddenly giving Tom a very unexpected hug of gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Hey man, it's all good.” Tom awkwardly patted the sniper on the back. “It's a little something to help you once you find that Courser for me, yeah?”


	46. Song Lyrics

“...Goodneighbor?” MacCready asked.

The word finally made its way into the part of my mind able to process speech. As soon as we had stepped away from the Old North Church towards the street, I froze up in a panic attack, trembling with abject fear. An overwhelming sense of terror gripped my chest, and my eyes locked on to the ruined block where the former raider camp had been. I struggled to breathe, to force my feet to take the next step. _They're gone. They're all dead. The street is clear._

“Huh?” I took a shaky step down the stairs, gripping the cracked wooden railing with all my panicked strength.

_But what if there are more?_

“I said, 'Are we headed to Goodneighbor?'” MacCready repeated, already on the street, sniper rifle at the ready in a comfortably familiar pose.

_There are always more._

My foot landed on the next step down, a thousand miles of courage to force my limbs to move even that much. “Yeah.”

_No! I can't move!_

Finally noticing my uncharacteristic one word answers, he peered back at me. “You okay, Boss?”

 _I'm so scared!_ “Mmgh,” I managed between quick panting breaths.

Another two steps down to the street, and I was almost weeping in fear.

_We're going to get shot._

Danger was everywhere. I knew this, knew it from the very first day when I had to run for my life. This world was awash in anarchic shows of strength and violence... _and yet I had the pathetically brainless idea to try and help raise their society out of the miasma of blood?_ The flicker of anger flared long enough for another step, then fled as my panic resurged.

 _Me? The goddamn musician?_ My combat shotgun wavered in my grip, visibly trembling. _I'm no leader._

_All it takes is another group of raiders, a group not totally high on chems, and we're dead._

I froze again. _It's too much._

My companion stood there quietly, watching my slow, tortured progress onto the street. “Hey, have you heard this one?” he said casually. “It's about the Super Mutant who wondered why a rock kept getting bigger.”

Distracted, I stared at him incredulously. _What?_

With a grin, he laid out the punchline, “Then it hit him.” He smacked his hands together.

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, this childish joke made me feel just a tiny bit better. _RJ deals with this, and worse, every day, and he's not frozen in fear. Hell, he still even has a sense of humor._

_What happened to mine?_

“Oh, come on Boss, that was pretty good.” Putting on a feigned frown, he huffed at me. “No?”

“Sorry, MacCready,” I choked out around the lump of fear in my throat. “I don't know how you do it.”

“Easy, Boss.” One hand propelled me forward, firmly but gently encouraging. “Take one step at a time. You can't roll with the punches if you're not moving. It's a lesson I learned when I was a kid, and you're learning it now. I'll help you.”

I focused on taking one more step, breathing deeply and evenly. One shaky step turned into five, then twenty. Without looking for trouble, we carefully made our way towards Goodneighbor and the friends we had there. _One step at a time. And I have the best companion in the world beside me._ As we walked, MacCready continued to tell me stories from his time in Little Lamplight, and the mischief an entire settlement of children could get into. I took heart in his unbreakable spirit, my panic subsiding with every block we passed.

_Of course it helps that we kinda cleared out the route last time we came this way._

“Do you think these make me look mysterious?” I glanced up to see MacCready holding out a pair of mirrored sunglasses. _Deacon's_ sunglasses. The smug grin on my partner's face said it all.

“How?” I groaned, half in stunned amusement. “No, nevermind, I already know...” The distraction of the harmless prank snuffed the last lingering wisp of my fear, my courage finally making its reappearance. _God, I love this dork._

“Skills, Boss.” He tried them on briefly before discarding them back into his pockets. “Nah, I prefer being able to see my targets clearly.”

“Me too. After all, you're the experienced fighter. I'm just the overly hopeful optimist who doesn't belong here.” The bitterness rose again for a brief moment until his reply soothed my damaged sense of self.

“No way, Boss. We balance each other out. Everything's going to be all right, as long as we stick together.” MacCready's words held the ring of conviction, and I felt myself starting to believe them.

-0-

When we arrived in Goodneighbor, we stopped to trade with Daisy. The Railroad was very generous with their aid and Tom's new ballistic weave, but we were desperately low on stimpaks. She gave me a very long, searching look while we stocked up, finally reaching out to pat my hand with her own withered one. “Having a tough time of it, hon?” she asked in a low voice, not bothering to wait for an answer. “You don't have to say anything, I've got eyes, you know.” She looked from me to MacCready and back again. “Little word of advice, though I doubt you need it. Keep looking for the good. You'll find it eventually; it's usually buried under a ton of shit.” She pretended not to see the tears in my eyes at her kindness, turning to address my partner. “Nothing yet, MacCready, but there've been delays. The weather down south's been playing havoc with supply lines.”

He nodded sharply, obviously unhappy about something, but resigned. “All right. Thanks, Daisy.”

With no other immediate plans, we made our way down to the Third Rail. In the afternoon there were few other patrons about. The singer in the red dress was at the bar, and MacCready motioned for me to go on to the VIP room ahead of him. “I just want to have a quick chat with Magnolia.” he said. “Go relax, no one will bother you in there, and I'll join you in a bit.”

Nodding my acquiescence, I headed into the back room. The place looked exactly the same, scattered couches, kitch and other random collectibles on the walls and in the cabinets. I was able to take a moment to think, staring at the decorations without seeing them. The space was quiet, only muffled sounds from the bar reaching this far into the room.

_Why did this happen? I'm no one, nothing important. Not suited to this world. If this was only a game, I would have probably enjoyed it, the fascinating story, the colorful characters. But it's not, and I want to go home. Pain and blood and violence... I hate it, I hate it all. I'm sick of this place, sick of hurting, sick of the radiation, the inedible food, the cold, the constant fear for my life._

In the reflective silence, I took out the toy soldier that MacCready had given me, kept close to my heart in a pocket of my leather coat. Turning the wooden figurine over in my hands, my thoughts wandered.

_And yet, I care deeply... for him. I'm in love with his gorgeous soulful eyes, that snaggletooth grin, the fire of his spirit, the touch of his hand..._

_I'm not who I was. I don't know who I am now._

Humming quietly, I started to sing to myself. Lyrics to a song about the conflict of changes, sad and slow, and so perfectly matching my mood that I put my heart into it. I hadn't sung in months, and making music eased an ache in me I didn't even realize was there.

“It's not simple to say / Most days I don't recognize me  
These shoes and this apron / That place and its patrons / Have taken more than I gave 'em”

 _Not so much an apron now as a shotgun_ , I sighed. _I definitely don't recognize myself anymore._

“It's not easy to know / I'm not anything like I used to be, although it's true  
I was never attention's sweet center / I still remember that girl.”

I lifted my voice to the chorus, rough from lack of practice, but on pitch.

“She's imperfect but she tries / She is good but she lies  
She is hard on herself / She is broken and won't ask for help...”

 _Huh, I got help, though. Help in the form of a snarky mercenary who can make me laugh..._ The rest of the chorus was lost in fractured whispers as I lost my breath, until the last line.

“She is gone but she used to be mine.”

I started on the second verse a little more strongly, still facing the wall, allowing my voice to reverberate back at me in a weird almost-echo. The words were muscle memory, coming out without my having to think about it, this song having been one of my favorites to sing when I was lonely back home. At the bridge, I punched the additional lyrics, using my own altered word – “drive” instead of “life” – trying to rekindle my own battered spirit with the music.

“... / And then she'll get stuck

And be scared / Of the drive that's inside her  
Growing stronger each day / 'Til it finally reminds her  
To fight just a little / To bring back the fire in her eyes  
That's been gone, but it used to be mine--”

I broke off with a startled squeak as a warm arm tucked around my waist. “I didn't know you could sing,” MacCready said softly in my ear, leaning his chin on my shoulder. He smiled when he saw me tuck the toy soldier back in the inner pocket of my jacket.

I laughed a little self-deprecatingly, shaking my head. “I can't, not really.” At his querying lift of an eyebrow, I continued. “I mean, I can generally carry a tune, you need to in order to be a music major, but my voice is terrible... nobody likes it. I do best in large choirs where I can't be heard, you know?” Shrugging, I looked down. “It's one reason I don't sing around other people, as much as I enjoy it.”

“I'm not sure why you care what other people think. I wouldn't.” His arms tightened around me, and he pressed his cheek to mine, the rasp of his slight goatee a comforting feel. “So you'll never give Magnolia a run for her money,” he said in an honest assessment, “So what? I'd still like to hear more.”

I couldn't tell if he was joking or not about wanting to hear me sing. “I don't know...”

Together, we moved over to one of the couches to sit down together. Taking a different tack, he asked, “What was that song you were singing, anyway? It was kinda pretty, but the words were sad.”

“Remember when I told Deacon about telling stories?” At his nod, I explained, “The song is from a musical, one of my favorite storytelling methods.”

“I'm familiar with the idea. We do have radios here.”

I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. “Sorry...” He silenced any further apologies from me with a quick brush of his lips across my burning cheek before sitting back to hear the rest of my answer. “Uh, so... it's called 'She Used to be Mine'. Basically, it's a song sung by a woman who is going through a lot, and lost control of her life. She's mourning the person she used to be, and trying to find a new sense of self.” A warm hand covered mine, giving a gentle squeeze. “It's... appropriate.”

Blue eyes regarded me from under the shaded green cap. “Do these musicals of yours have songs for every occasion?”

“Just about.” I mentally ran through the list of songs and shows I knew. “I don't know all of them, of course, but there are a lot.”

“Got one for me?” A sly grin twitched the corner of his mouth. “I bet you don't.”

 _A roguish young man with a heart of gold, a snarky attitude, and an orphan background? Probably dozens._ “I bet I do.” With growing confidence, I poked him teasingly. “If I find the perfect song for you, what do I win?”

“My undying loyalty and admiration?” His eyes twinkled with challenge.

“Huh, I thought I already had that as part of your contract.”

“Point; though we're way past the contract thing, angel. I hope you realize that.” Grabbing my hand, he held it in both of his, his demeanor sobering. “You saved my son, Anne. Nothing I can do will ever repay that, and I'll spend the rest of my life loving you, trying as best I can.” As quickly as he grew serious, he was back in a playful mien. “Now, we were making a wager?”

“Hmm.” I pondered. “How about a weapon?”

“How's that?”

I nodded, deciding. “If I win, you find me a weapon, a really good one. I want to be able to defend myself better.”

“All right, though you already have the best weapon in the Commonwealth: me.” He preened briefly at my light laugh and grinned. “And if I win?”

 _You won't._ “You get to ask for something of like value from me.” I almost regretted it when the grin on his face became practically lascivious. _Good thing I'm going to win this one. There are so many good musicals out there._

“Okay. You have to sing the song, though. I'll decide if it's right.” MacCready bargained. _That little sneak is trying to stack the deck. My voice isn't good enough to sing a lot of them properly. Ah, well. All I can do is try._

Giving him a long look, long enough that he actually blushed, I finally nodded. “Agreed. Let me think.”

MacCready sat back against the cushions, hands behind his head in a relaxed slouch as I wracked my brain thinking of songs. _“Hard Knock Life?” Hmmm, good, but no... he's not in Little Lamplight anymore. “One Jump” from Aladdin? That's a possibility. Maybe something from Oliver? Pippin? Some of the stuff from Hamilton might be good, but I can't possibly sing it. Argh._ The longer I sat there thinking, the wider his smile grew, certain of victory. _Cats? Rent? Les Miserables? Miss Saigon? No... Into the Woods? Wicked? Possibly. Avenue Q? Gah, no._ The minutes ticked by.

“Can't think of anything? Time's running out.” He tossed at me lightly.

“I don't remember there being a time limit.” _C'mon, think!_

“I just made it up. Anytime now, Boss, while we're young!” He stuck his tongue out at me in a childish raspberry. _And he has a child, too._

_Wait, that's it!_

I sat up in sudden conviction. “All right. I've got it.” Taking a couple of breaths to warm up, I explained the scene. “It's a musical called The Secret Garden. In this scene, a widowed father is telling a story to his sick son, who's asleep. There's a lot more to it than that, but that's the gist of it.”

MacCready's eyes narrowed and his face stilled as he nodded.

I took one last bracing breath, then started on the recitative. “When we left off last night, the hideous dragon had carried the maid to his cave by moonlight...”

To his credit, MacCready listened intently, hanging on every word. I know my voice was still rough, even though the melody was pitched in a lower key and easier for me to sing.

“I said someone must save this sweet raven-haired maiden / Though surely the cost will be steep.  
So we lads all drew lots, / Our insides tied in knots,  
And I won, and the rest went to sleep...”

The song was in a lilting 6/8 time signature, and the melody was relatively simple and catchy. As I continued, my voice became more confident, relating the tale of the knight who killed the dragon and won the maid's favor. MacCready blinked when that line came along, and his mouth dropped open a little when I sang of their marriage and the son she bore. He sat dumbstuck at the chorus.

“Race you to the top of the morning! / Come, sit on my shoulders and ride!  
Run and hide, I'll come and find you, / Climb hills to remind you,  
I love you, my boy at my side!”

I stared across the room for the second verse, focusing on the music.

“Now, another foul dragon's appeared, / I must leave you.  
He's scorching our land with his breath...”

I built up to the section mentioning the son's illness, knowing that if my companion was listening as closely as I thought, he would instantly recognize himself in the music. The melody crescendoed at that point, and I followed the emotion as best I could with my second-rate voice.

“Would to god I could stay and instead slay your dragon, / This beast who sits hunched on your back.  
Would god I could wrench him away from your bed, / Or cut off or tear off his terrible head,  
Or breathe out my fire on him 'til he was dead / Or beg him to spare you and take me instead!”

I heard an almost gasping breath, and closed my eyes to better remember the next lines; mentioning the man's now deceased wife, and having to leave the son in the care of family. Finally, I reached the final chorus.“And you know that as soon as I can I'll return, / So be brave, son and know that I long  
To race you to the top of the morning! / Come, sit on my shoulders and ride.  
Run and hide, I'll come and find you, / Climb hills to remind you  
I love you!  
I love you, my boy at my side!”

When I let the last note fade away, there was silence between us. I heard the slight, ragged breathing of the man next to me and clasped my fingers together in my lap, staring at them, not daring to look at him. _I thought it would be appropriate, as much as he loves his son, but I didn't think it would hit him this hard... maybe it was too close to his own story._ A quiet sniff, then a trembling hand reached out to grasp mine. Looking up at him, he gave me a genuine, if sad, smile as he bushed at his eyes with his free hand.

Before either of us could say anything, Daisy's voice called from the doorway. “MacCready? I have a letter for you.”


	47. Letters from Home

MacCready practically launched himself from the couch at Daisy, who was holding out a battered envelope. She braced herself for impact, but the young sniper stopped short, the excitement of a kid at Christmas radiating from every inch of his spare form. Daisy rasped a low laugh, handing him the letter, “A courier just came in, and I asked KL-E-0 to watch the shopfront for a moment so I could bring this to you without delay.” She exclaimed in surprise when she was suddenly picked up in the giddy twirl of a hug.

“Thanks, Daisy, you're the absolute best!”

“Anytime, MacCready. Though,” and she went thoughtful, “He mentioned that the couple who gave it to him looked like they were all packed up?” She and my partner exchanged perplexed glances. “Maybe that's explained in the letter.” This time, she gave me a significant look when his attention was taken by the envelope. It was a look that said, _be there for him, just in case._ I nodded and she relaxed. “All right, dear, I've done my good deed for the day. I'll be back at the shop if you need anything.”

“Thanks again!” we chorused as my companion returned to sit next to me on the couch. The envelope was tattered and discolored with old stains, and quite thin. On the front were the words “MacCready, Goodneighbor, The Commonwealth” marked in hasty, uneven letters. There was no return address. Carefully, but as quickly as he could, he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. A small additional scrap of paper fluttered out, and with amazing reflexes he caught it deftly, tucking it behind the main letter. I watched his eyes as they read the few words on the page, then re-read them again, and again. A joyously happy, love-struck smile crossed his face, and he dabbed at his cheeks which glistened with sudden tears. He handed me the letter, turning his curious attention to the small scrap of paper.

“ _Hi Daddy!_

_Pop-pop gave me that stuff you sent._

_I'm all better now._

_I love you, daddy!_

_Duncan”_

The handwriting was that of a small child, but quite legible and extremely heartwarming to read. I had to dab at the moisture in my own eyes. But before I could hand the letter back, the small scrap of paper drifted down to land face up on top of Duncan's loving scrawl.

“It worked. Thanks.

Goodbye.”

Incredulous, I looked up to meet the hooded expression of my partner. The smile had faded, and his blue eyes were shadowed with pain. “That's it?!” I demanded, furious. “That's all they had to say? You found the cure for your son! After all you went through, all you suffered? _Four_ whole words?” My hands holding Duncan's letter shook, and I very carefully and deliberately folded it back up and tucked it into MacCready's front duster pocket, his haunted gaze following my every move.

His voice when he spoke was broken. “What the courier told Daisy? It makes sense now... they've moved. I don't know where. The cure worked, but I'll never see my son again.” For only the second time in all the months we'd been together, MacCready wept. I held him close as he clutched at my shoulders, his face buried in the curve of my neck. “I was hoping... I had asked... in my letter... asked if I could come home... be a father to my son.” He broke off with an agonized moan of grief. “I _knew_ I couldn't go back... but I thought maybe... if the cure worked... I had hoped they'd let me see Duncan again. I miss him so much... Oh, my son...”

Slowly, I leaned back against the cushioned arm of the couch, cradling MacCready against me as he mourned the shattered hope to see his son, his only family, again. How cruel were his in-laws to have cut this poor man out of their lives so harshly, so thoroughly. He had risked life and limb coming back to the Commonwealth, knowing his old Gunner squad was not going to forgive his return. Trying to get the cure on his own nearly killed him, yet he persevered and finally succeeded with my help. And his in-laws still turned a blind eye to all of it, ignoring his successful promise to be a better person for his son. There was nothing much I could say, but I could offer my presence, my loving support. I brushed my fingers though his hair, gently stroking his temples as he wept, clinging to me with desperate strength. “I'm here, RJ, I've got you. Just let it all out, it's okay,” I murmured over and over, a soothing refrain for his battered psyche.

Eventually, the grieving young man drifted into a fitful sleep, still clutching me tenaciously. Dozing in a chair for a week didn't have the same restful benefits as an actual bed, and it had finally caught up with him. Letting him rest, I took the time to think, watching his breathing, his face more relaxed, though still showing the effects of his heartbreak. _He's so strong_ , I thought, _but even the strongest person can be broken. Taking away his son... that would shatter just about anyone, even though he had already known he couldn't go back. He was still clinging on to the hope of redemption, I guess._ I sighed, and MacCready snuggled closer in an unconscious response. _At least we know Duncan is cured. A bitter consolation compared to actually seeing him hale and healthy, to be sure, but it's something RJ can keep close to his heart. He saved his son's life._

I let my thoughts wander, listening to the gradual rise of noise coming from the main bar area. When Magnolia began her first set a little later, MacCready startled awake. He looked around in confusion for only a moment before rubbing his eyes and lifting his head to give me a sad half-smile that wrenched me to my core. “Thanks, angel,” he said simply, making no move to sit up, and I felt a rush of love and affection towards him when he laid his head back down. “I feel a bit better now.”

“Anytime, love.” Stroking his hair again, _I love his hair, it's so thick and straight,_ we relaxed into each other, listening to Magnolia sing.

After a few minutes, to my complete surprise, MacCready spoke tentatively, twining his fingers with mine, still cradled against my chest. “Can you teach me that song?”

“The one I sang for you, 'Race You to the Top of the Morning'?”

“Yeah.” He buried his face into my jacket, the words muffled a little as he hesitated. “I think I'd like to learn it. Did you know Magnolia writes all her own songs? She says they tell the story of her life, and she relives all the important stuff when she sings them. I can't write music at all, so maybe I can use the song you sang for me? It...” he broke off, cheeks coloring a little.

“It struck a chord with you? I understand. It's why I like to sing certain songs, too.” I smiled at his shy nod. “I'd be honored to teach you, RJ.”

“Thanks, angel,” he murmured, just as Hancock strode in, a broad smile on his scarred face. MacCready looked up at this sudden intrusion, gazing steadily at the Ghoul with challenge written in his narrowed blue eyes. I tensed, feeling like we'd been caught doing something wrong.

_Why should I feel that way? So we're together, it's nobody's business but ours._

_And what about your partner? Sleeping with his clients can't be good for his reputation, or yours for that matter, which is one of the reasons you were keeping things quiet, dummy._

_We're way past the client thing._

_Yeah, but the average Wastelander doesn't know that. And they don't need to know._

“Ah-ha!” Hancock stopped halfway across the room from us, hands on his hips, taking in our nestled posture on the couch. “Heard you were in town. My favorite sniper _and_ my favorite out-worlder, together at last! Looking cozy, you two. Maybe I should have given up being mayor and helped you myself, if this is what would have happened,” he leered, making his way over to wedge himself into the end of the couch next to me as we scrambled upright to make room.

I was going to protest, defending our desire for privacy, but MacCready gave my arm a quick warning squeeze. _Guess he's recovered enough for company. I'll follow his lead on this._ “This just a social call, Hancock, or did you have something for us?” he asked, his cool emotional shield in full force. And yet, he draped his arm across my shoulders, fingers playing with the seam of my leather jacket.

“Now don't be like that, MacCready,” Hancock soothed, rasping a chuckle. “I wanted to get the latest updates from your travels. All kinds of rumors go flying around the Commonwealth, and I pride myself on having the best information, getting it from the source if I can.”

“All right, Hancock,” I conceded, warmly wedged between the two of them. “You tell us what rumors you've heard, and we'll fill you in if we can.”

“ _If_ you get us some drinks,” MacCready added, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “We're both parched.”

“Are you now?” came the salacious rejoinder. “I wonder why...” He laughed at my eye roll and MacCready's annoyed huff and went to the doorway just long enough to order drinks for all of us.

Settling in with our drinks, and later, a meal, we discussed the goings-on in the Commonwealth, trading our road stories for intel from those in the higher echelons of leadership. While Hancock was not on good terms with the mayor of Diamond City, he was remarkably well informed about the doings in greater Boston as a whole.

“Heard you've been clearing out some of the caravan routes in the city... and that you two disappeared for a week before showing up here.” Black eyes met my dark green ones. “I was getting worried for a bit there, Sunshine. Even with MacCready guarding your back, you need to be careful.”

I stiffened up. “It was my fault,” I said in a low voice, closing my eyes. MacCready pulled me back against him supportively. “We got surprised by a group of raiders.” Hancock's eyes went wide, looking from me to Mac and back again. Despite his teasing earlier, he seemed to be pretty accepting about our deepened relationship. Mac nodded against the back of my head.

“It's true, well the part about the raiders anyway.” MacCready picked up the narrative. “They just about killed me, left me for dead, and were trying to cut her arm off, lengthwise, to get at her Pip-Boy.” He tightened his embrace, a silent reminder of his promise to always be there for me. “They won't be kidnapping anyone ever again, but we needed some time to recover after that one.”

Hancock whistled in sympathy, flicking his gaze to my forearm. At his mute query, I unlatched the device, turning my head away so as not to see the ruined flesh beneath.

“I dunno,” the Ghoul mused after a moment, “if I'm anything to go by, scars are damn sexy. Wouldn't you agree, MacCready?”

To my complete and utter surprise, instead of answering, MacCready cupped my face in one hand, turning me around to kiss me fiercely, passionately, almost possessively. His other arm traced down my side to hold my waist. I leaned into his kiss hungrily, suddenly not caring whether or not Hancock was there anymore. A delighted chuckle accompanied our exhibition.

“Guess so. Well, if you two ever want a third...” Hancock laughed at MacCready's growl, rumbling from his chest into our locked lips. “I'll leave you kids alone.”

As soon as our visitor had departed, we broke apart, the need for an ostentatious display over. Looking deeply into those crystal eyes, I could tell my partner was still emotionally struggling with the roller-coaster events of the day. “Why don't we head up to the Rexford?” I suggested. “I'm feeling decidedly anti-social tonight.”

MacCready sighed in grateful agreement, taking my hand. “Let's go be scarce together.”


	48. Sea and Sky

Those words were the catalyst for another several weeks of traversing the Commonwealth by ourselves, this time to the south and east of the city proper. I still had some more locations Garvey wanted us to check out, as well as new intel from Hancock about strange disappearances near the coast that sounded like the Institute's work. We never stayed in one place for long, keeping on the move and trying to track down a Courser. Bringing new settlements under the Minutemen's banner became easier as word of the faction's resurgence spread. Once officially on Garvey's list, we could then send word to Deacon and the Railroad, letting them place the occasional Synth runaway to start their new life as a colonist.

The Brotherhood of Steel soldiers were also out and about, flying scouting missions and eliminating threats as they found them. Whenever we came across a squad, we would offer our assistance and send any of our technological finds back to the Scribes on the Prydwen. By this point, we were recognized as a Brotherhood asset, and welcomed as temporary fire support for the roving patrols. _It also helps to have a couple of Knights in full power armor to draw fire_ , I thought, taking a shot at a rampaging Super Mutant from the hidden flanking position MacCready had secured for us. _Exoskeletons don't bleed._

For his part, MacCready appeared to take things in stride, seemingly content just to be out and about traveling together. He had been unusually quiet the first day after we left Goodneighbor, keeping his gaze locked on the road ahead, not even complaining about the weather, the food, or any of a hundred other comments he would normally have made about our journey and the environment. The loss of hope of ever seeing his son again had hit him hard, and all I could do was offer him my quiet support, his favorite distraction of shooting things, and the handwritten lyrics to the song he had requested. He kept them folded up with Duncan's letter in the front inner pocket of his duster... next to my drivers license, which he still had, to my surprise.

The morning he poked me awake with, “G'morning, angel. Nice day today; perfect for traveling.” I knew his spirit was on the mend. He still occasionally lapsed into silence, but his general demeanor was much closer to his usual energetic self. That night, I began to teach him the melody to “his” song, much to his pleasure. He was eager to learn and quite intelligent, a delightful student to have, and it was wonderful to be able to teach him something in return for all the lessons he'd imparted to me. _Of course, it's not quite fair that he has a much better voice than I do, but in the long run it means I get to enjoy hearing him sing._

We made our way towards the coast, the weather finally getting warm enough during the day that foot travel was almost pleasant. Unfortunately, the terrain to the south was boggy and marshy, flooded from the ravages of the war and ensuing tidal havoc. We struggled for a full day across tidal marshland, MacCready unusually nervous and on alert. A few small groups of buildings in our line of travel were partially submerged, but still intact enough to provide overnight shelter. Once or twice, my Pip-Boy picked up a Courser signal, but when we tried to home in on it, it would disappear as soon as we got close, much to my growing frustration.

When we finally reached the shoreline, I was almost surprised to see it looked the same as in my world. A long sandy expanse scattered with tufts of beach grasses appeared so perfectly normal that I was nearly brought to tears of homesickness. I made my way slowly down to the water, gray-blue in the slightly cloudy sky, breathing in the salty air. It was still too chilly to even think of dipping my toes in, nevermind the pervasive radiation in the water, but I was happy to just gaze out over the waves, letting the temporary peace of the ocean wash over me.

My partner was less than thrilled with the detour. “Read a book once that said ocean views are breathtaking. Must have been a work of fiction.” He was treading gingerly across the sand, a sour look on his face.

I shrugged at him. “I like it. The awesome-yet-contained power of the ocean, the soothing whoosh of the waves across the sand, the feeling of wind through your hair.” I kicked absently at a wavelet breaking near my feet. “It's beautiful.”

MacCready wasn't going to be persuaded. “Don't know what's worse, the smell of rotting seaweed or the pungent stink of the algae.”

“MacCready...”

“Hey, I'm just telling it like it is. Give me a nice forest any day.”

“Sourpuss. That cave you grew up in couldn't have smelled any better.” I turned around and started back towards the dunes.

“No, which may be part of the reason. All this open air, and it smells as bad as a damp cave.” He wrinkled his nose at me, suddenly freezing in his tracks and bringing his rifle up. “Get down!” he hissed urgently.

I dropped to the sand as a huge shelled creature scuttled over the dunes, heading straight for us. MacCready had already pulled out a grenade, tossing it to land at the monster's feet. “Mirelurk,” he explained in an intense whisper. “Shell's too tough, gotta hit its belly or face.” We both covered our heads as the grenade detonated, taking out most of the crablike mirelurk's underbody with it. A couple of shots from my companion's rifle finished it off and we went over to inspect the corpse. “Must be getting warm enough for them to come out of the water.”

“Let me guess,” I hazarded, “mutated crabs?” _If insects can get bigger, why not crustaceans?_

“If there was ever a sign that nature's pissed at us, this is it,” MacCready confirmed, kicking the rock-hard shell. “Some people eat mirelurk meat, but I never got used to the taste.”

“Wait, these things are edible?” I gazed at the giant legs and claws speculatively. “I love crab legs.”

MacCready stood there, setting the butt of his rifle on the ground, staring at me. “You have _got_ to be kidding me!” He shook his head. “You want to try and cook this?”

“Just the legs...” I broached tentatively. When he rolled his eyes, I added, more firmly. “Look, I'm having enough trouble finding food I can keep down. Crab is one of my favorites. It can't hurt to try.”

With an exaggerated sigh, my partner pulled out his combat knife. “You have some expensive tastes, Boss. Just don't ask me to have any. Seafood and I do _not_ get along.”

“Deal.”

Cooked mirelurk meat proved to be one of the few foods I was able to stomach, adding to the extremely short list of “meats that don't make me sick” along with cooked brahmin, radstag, and deathclaw. MacCready had been peripherally aware of my gastric difficulties, but was now more determined to help make sure I could stay fed. “Why didn't you say anything, Boss?” he griped, watching me as I carefully wrapped and stowed the excess meat for later consumption.

“What good would it have done?” I shrugged.

“I could have kept watch for radstags, at least.”

His concern for my well-being only deepened the love I felt for him, and reignited the conflict of emotions I had previously quashed. _I need him, and after getting that letter I think he might need me too. What am I going to do? Am I going to even find a way home? How much longer are we going to be together?_ Those thoughts kept swirling in my head any time I had a quiet moment, and no amount of willpower was going to make them go away this time.

When MacCready caught me staring thoughtfully into the fire of our makeshift camp late one night, he teased the reason for my silence from me. When I admitted my inner struggle, he pulled me close in a warm embrace. “I don't know what's going to happen, angel, so I want to make the best of each and every moment we have together.” He kissed my cheek gently, pulling back just far enough that I could look deeply into his firelit crystal gaze. “I almost died on that rooftop. I could die tomorrow. Or next week. You could get transported back home just as mysteriously as you appeared. Or hit by a stray bullet. Some idiot fanatic could discover a payload of nukes and blow up the entire Commonwealth.” He stopped to press another kiss to my lips. “The important thing is we're both here right now.”

I sighed ruefully. “Is it bad, falling in love with the mercenary hired to protect me?” _Making my desire to go home fade ever so slowly with every passing day._

“As bad as falling in love with the lady I was hired to protect. Let's just say it's a good thing I generally walk _behind_ you as your bodyguard.” He chuckled lustfully, his hands suddenly very busy. _Or fading not so slowly... I'm learning how to survive out here, finding sustenance, finding love. Maybe this world isn't all that bad?_

-0-

 _And maybe this world_ is _all that bad._ I crunched the tablet of Rad-X that MacCready hastily shoved at me as we ran down the road as fast as we could, desperately trying to keep ahead of the storm bearing down on us. _Radstorm_ , he had called it; a swirl of yellow-green clouds and high winds, striking with frequent stabs of irradiated lightning, causing my Pip-Boy to crackle. We were frantically trying to find shelter, anything that would protect us from the burning fall of rain and rad-laced winds, and were too far away from the latest settlement we had visited to return in time to beat the storm. With the first onset of warmer weather, the Commonwealth was demonstrating yet more of its dangers, and this radstorm was only the most recent of the new threats we encountered.

From up ahead, I heard my partner call out, “here, over here!” He had found the shell of a destroyed house, clearing the way to the basement by levering up the slabs of rotten wood blocking the ruined stairs. With my help, we were able to move aside enough of the blockage to squeeze into the scant shelter, pushing as far back as we could into the darkness to huddle together, safe underground from the dangerous rainfall.

Even with the help of the Rad-X, every strong gust of wind and lightning strike evoked an answering crackle from my Pip-Boy and a lurch of nausea deep in my guts. MacCready appeared less affected by the radiation, _maybe that's a benefit of being from this world?_ holding me close and murmuring soothing noises I couldn't decipher every time I shuddered in reaction. We stayed in that dark, cramped space for hours, waiting out the storm. Even after the unnatural weather had passed, it took me a while to disengage from my lover's arms to emerge into the renewed sunlight.

“Well,” I said, “that was horrifying.”

“Yeah,” MacCready agreed, “it's one of the dangers in warmer weather. You missed them before now because it was too cold. I forgot that you hadn't seen a radstorm before.”

“What other dangers do I need to know about 'in warmer weather'?” I grumbled, stomping back to the road. _Anytime I think I'm getting a handle on surviving, this place throws me for a loop. I guess I really do need to get home._

“Just the bugs.” MacCready caught up with me, taking his usual guard position a few steps to my rear. “Nasty creatures. The warmer weather brings them out in force. ...And the yao guai; mutated bears to you.” At my shocked expression, he added quickly, “But don't worry, I'll be right here to protect you.”

“Mutated... bears?” I hastily pulled up the map on my Pip-Boy. “Um, it looks like we're south of Diamond City. Let's head back, get a room at the Dugout Inn, a drink, and some real food. We've been out here for weeks helping our respective factions. Time for a break... now.”

“Sounds good to me, Boss!” He grinned, adding, “I'd kill for a drink... come to think of it, I have.”


	49. Courser Hunting

“I think we may have a foolproof plan to get you within striking range of a Courser.” Deacon surprised us as we grabbed a quick bite at Power Noodles the next day. A night in a warm, safe room did wonders for our mental and physical equilibrium, but were perishing for good, cooked food.

I jumped in reaction, not having noticed the Railroad spy approach. The only reason I was able to recognize him as being Deacon was when he spoke. He was wearing a brown wig and dressed in an identical baseball uniform to the guards in Diamond City, down to the wire-wrapped bat.

“Oh?” I commented mildly, pretending I didn't just halfway jump out of my skin. “Do tell.”

“Can we talk about this somewhere more private?” Deacon murmured, acting as if he was only making small talk. “Like maybe you can give me a tour of your regular room in the Dugout Inn?”

“At least let us finish our meal, huh Deacon?” MacCready grumbled, motioning to his nearly full second bowl. “We don't get the chance to eat real food very often when we're covering every inch of the Commonwealth on foot.”

“Awww, and here I thought you were going to offer me lunch,” Deacon bantered back, laughing a little as MacCready half-playfully growled like a starving dog, wrapping his arm around the second portion. “Gotcha. When you're finished here, go back to your room and I'll be along shortly.”

Back in our room, Deacon elaborated further. “We have an issue that came up, forcing our hand. Normally, we sneak escaped Synths out of the Commonwealth one at a time, but with our forces so reduced, it's been taking too long, even with the Minutemen's help. More Synths escape the Institute before we can safely transport the ones we have on hand. Right now, we have a group of six we need to move, pronto.”

“I'm with you so far. Where do we come in?”

“This is what I'm thinking. We leak information about a mass exodus heading out of Bunker Hill. Once the Institute finds out that's where the Synths are, they're bound to send a Courser with a whole bunch of Gen 1s as backup to retrieve their property. You alert the Brotherhood of Steel to the presence of Institute Synths and they'll be there like a shot.” He clapped his hands together dramatically. “Boom! Brotherhood and Institute tear each other up while you and your sniper buddy there focus on taking out the Courser, whom you can track thanks to Tinker Tom. In the meantime, the Railroad sneaks our Synth friends out the back way under cover of all the confusion, sending them to the nearest Minutemen settlements for safekeeping.”

I sat there, a little stunned. “That's a lot of moving parts, Deacon.” Turning to MacCready, I asked, “Your thoughts?”

“I think it's our best chance at a Courser,” he said seriously. “After all, we've been playing whack-a-mole-rat for months just trying to get close, and they disappear as soon as we close in. And there aren't all that many leads for us to follow in the first place.”

I nodded. “All right, Deacon. Let's put this plan into action.”

-0-

It took several days of encrypted communications between the leaders of the various factions, using the plan Deacon had presented, coordinated through me, to set up our trap. Paladin Danse was eager to take the fight to the Institute, though he was reluctant to commit troops unless we had solid information. I leaned heavily on my good reputation, earned in battle alongside other Brotherhood Knights in the Commonwealth, as well as the knowledge that I had more local resources for intel than Danse did. He was almost desperate to uncover my source, but reluctantly backed down when I gave him my word as a Soldier that my information was trustworthy.

General Garvey sent a platoon of Minutemen volunteers to the nearest settlement to Bunker Hill with orders to cooperate with the Railroad and set up safe escape routes leading away from the conflict. Privately, he wished me good luck in my personal mission, cautioning me to be careful. Desdemona sent one of her regular Railroad agents to meet with the Minutemen and mark the trail; not only for the escaped Synths, but also for any traders caught in the crossfire. Once the area was cleared of Institute presence, the traders could return if they so wished.

MacCready and I made our way to Bunker Hill armed to the teeth. We decided to arrive as soon as possible in order to reconnoiter the entire complex and set up an ambush point. While the Courser was going to be distracted by his mission to recapture the escaped Synths, we had to make sure we could take him out before he could disappear. We were relying heavily on the assumption that our target was going to be single-mindedly determined to complete his mission, no matter the cost.

Deacon met up with us shortly after our arrival. He brought us down through a cleverly disguised trap door in the main trading area to an underground bunker where the Railroad had set up shelter for the runaways. “Housing one, hell, even two Synths down here while waiting for transport isn't much of a problem,” Deacon had explained as we were given a quick tour, “but with the recent loss of two of our safehouses, we've had to keep an entire group of six down here together, and that's way too many warm bodies to keep secure for long.” He declined to show us the actual room where the runaway Synths were hiding, explaining that the fewer people who knew its exact location, the better. “Anyway, thanks for the distraction!”

“Don't mention it,” I said, wryly, nervous about the upcoming battle. “No, really. Just don't.” Craning my neck to look at the vaulted ceilings in the buried shelter, I asked, “Do you expect them to get this far? There are a couple of good defensive spots, but I don't envy a firefight in here.”

Deacon shook his head emphatically. “If the Institute discovered this haven, we'd be dead in the water. We need them to stay on the surface. That's where the Brotherhood comes in, guns blazing in a rush of glory.” He grinned. “Keep the Gen 1s busy outside the walls. You two distract that Courser from finding the basement entrance, eliminate him and get his chip for Tom. In the meantime, we have an alternate one-way exit to smuggle our, ah, cargo into Minutemen hands.”

“Okay, Deacon, we get it, we're not amateurs.” MacCready chimed in, making his way back up through the trap door. “Thanks for the tour, but we'll take it from here. C'mon Boss, I'll teach you how to build a proper sniper's nest.”

-0-

When the Institute made their move, they did so decisively. MacCready and I were camouflaged in the scaffolding surrounding Bunker Hill's landmark obelisk, keeping alert for any movement. My Pip-Boy squealed suddenly as a slew of bright flashes and accompanying cracks heralded the arrival of a large contingent of Institute Gen 1 Synths, emerging from the surrounding buildings already firing on our location. As soon as the force appeared, the squad of Brotherhood Knights led by Paladin Danse, who had been stationed in concealed points around the immediate area just that morning, returned fire with their own show of force. A blaze of red Brotherhood and blue Institute laser beams crisscrossed the entire area, creating a deadly light show. Traders and caravan workers fled, ducking for cover or vacating the area entirely, one or two boldly daring to shoot at the Institute fighters as they escaped.

I watched the exchange of fire from our concealed sniper's position, the swirl of adversaries surging back and forth across the clearing around the ruined monument, silently rooting for the Brotherhood Knights to prevail. MacCready and I stayed hidden, scanning the area for one last blast of matter transmission. My Pip-Boy was quiet after the initial squeal, indicating the Courser was biding his time, waiting for any resistance to be cleared before making his move. _Scan the route of travel, breathe slowly and steadily, keep your adrenaline in check_ , MacCready's advice for sniping ran through my head, _save your energy and let your target come to you_.

_Aha!_

Finally, the quiet radar _ping_ from my Pip-Boy alerted us at the same time one last flash of light crackled nearby. Our target had arrived. He emerged from in between the row of buildings nearest the front gate, dressed in a long black leather overcoat, carrying a laser rifle. A string of oddly-shaped grenades crossed his chest on a bandoleer. Ignoring the chaos of battle around him, the Courser strode slowly but confidently through the main gate, heading for the trading center inside.

Without having to say a word, MacCready and I fired simultaneously, as if we were one person with two rifles. My shot hit the Courser in the leg, staggering him, while my partner's round shattered the laser rifle from his hand. A head shot could be potentially disastrous for our mission, damaging the very chip we were trying to procure. A second shot from MacCready paralyzed our target, centered on his lower spine. The Courser dropped to the ground, and we rushed down from our hidden position to finish the job. I switched from my sniper rifle to the more powerful combat shotgun as we closed in on our quarry.

Unfortunately, the Institute's elite hunters were tougher than we had expected and, even though he was badly wounded and unable to walk, the Courser rapidly threw several grenades towards us. We scattered, diving for cover as the grenades detonated in a familiar flash of blue-white light, spawning additional Gen 1 synths in between us and our target. _This isn't good._ There were four in all, and the Courser was pulling on his bandoleer to reach for more grenades.

Yelling to attract the attention of our new adversaries, I stood up from cover, invoking V.A.T.S. to secure head shots. I backed up towards the entrance of the building, the draw of my shout and the signal from my Pip-Boy too strong a lure for the primitive Gen 1s to ignore. After an infinitesimal pause, they turned to focus on me, leaving the Courser alone. With the power of my shotgun at close range, and my electronically enhanced aim, the four summoned Synths were hardly a challenge, though using V.A.T.S. for so many shots in a row left me tired and slightly out of breath.

The Courser himself had writhed around to face me when my Pip-Boy's assistance kicked in, a frighteningly intense expression on his face. “You.” He clawed at the broken concrete floor, dragging himself forward in a determined effort to reach me, previous mission all but forgotten. On the other side of the open area, MacCready darted forward unseen, grabbing the intimidating Gen3 Synth by the hair, combat knife flashing in a vicious slash. The Courser collapsed in a spray of blood, his head nearly severed. Mac kneeled down to finish the job, using a discarded shirt left by one of the fleeing traders to wrap our grisly prize. Outside, the sounds of gunfire still sounded, the firefight far from over. _I hope the runaways are able to get out safely._ I focused on the plight of the fugitive Synths as a way to distract myself from the gory scene playing out in front of me. The Courser may have been synthetic, but he appeared all too human, and beheading him was causing a serious conflict in my soul.

“We did it,” was all I said aloud, not quite believing the plan had actually worked. “We killed a Courser.” Months of wandering, tracking down rumors, helping the factions to build trust... all culminating in a flash of MacCready's knife. _So quick, but so consequential._

“Yaay.” Deacon's half-enthusiastic cheer echoed from the corner where the hidden trapdoor lay. He emerged into the center of the trading area, dusty and scuffed, but smiling. “I love it when a plan comes together. Especially when it's _my_ plan.” Beating the dust off his arms and legs, he meandered over towards MacCready and the deceased Courser lying in a dark pool of blood. “Tom is going to be over the moon. Once the Brotherhood finishes mopping up the stragglers, we'll head back to HQ.”

“That's not the only thing that needs mopping,” my partner quipped, heading to the back of the trading stands, searching through the stalls until he found a basket. He placed it on the counter top with a pleased grunt, securing our prize within. “I hope your Railroad has a good cleanup crew, or this location is going to be compromised.”

“No problemo!” Deacon assured us. “We did the hard part. I'll let the others worry about cleaning up. This place'll be back to its tumbledown splendor in a flash!” Simultaneous with Deacon's ostentatious arm flourish, my Pip-Boy squealed. There was a loud _crack_ and a burst of blinding light stabbed the flagstones in front of the open doorway behind me. All three of us staggered, disorientated, unable to see what had transported in.


	50. Rogue Asset

“We've been looking for you,” spoke a deep voice quietly in my ear. A blow to the back of my head stunned me, causing me to see stars. Strong arms encircled my own tightly enough that I dropped my shotgun with a loud clatter. I was lifted clean off the floor in an implacable hold, the tall figure who had grabbed me seemingly unmoved by my struggling and ineffective kicks. I took in a breath to scream, but he quickly shifted his arms to cover my mouth with one large gloved hand. “You're coming with me, ma'am. You are in possession of something that belongs to the Institute.”

The clatter of my shotgun hadn't gone unnoticed, even as I was prevented from screaming an alert. Deacon was shaking his head, trying to restore his own vision. MacCready whirled around at the sound, and when he discovered my predicament, he immediately lifted his sniper rifle, aiming at my kidnapper's head. “Let her go!” he yelled, voice cracking in anger as he slowly moved forward, “or I'll blow your head clean off!” I trusted his skill implicitly and went limp, presenting less of a chance to skew his aim.

“I don't think so.” With that emotionless rejoinder, the Courser, _it has to be another Courser, he's so strong_ , did something I couldn't see and we were suddenly surrounded by an intense, yet familiar, blue-white radiance.

“No!” screamed MacCready in sudden panic, charging forward too late to reach us. “No! Stop!”

With a loud _crack_ , I felt the tingle of electricity zing through my entire body, guided by my Pip-Boy's connection to the wires embedded within. The world appeared to disintegrate around us, but not with the same intensity as when I first arrived in Boston. I was able to hold on to my consciousness as we reappeared in a small alcove of some sort. The room was dimly lit, surrounded by curious metal arcs, and packed with open circuitry that slowly quieted from the frantic hum announcing our arrival. The air smelled slightly dusty, but completely free of the pervasive metallic odor that permeated the Commonwealth. _Where are we?_

My kidnapper shifted his grip on me, effortlessly slinging me over his shoulders in a painful, controlled hold. Frantically grabbing at my arm, I was able to quickly mark our exact location on my Pip-Boy's map, in the desperate hope that I could escape back this same way. The Courser hitched me up higher on his shoulders, hands grabbing at my wrists and ankles, preventing my escape. I grunted in pain, and he ignored me, striding confidently out of the alcove, through a busy scientific workplace staffed by several people who pretended to ignore us, and into a long, clean hallway. The Courser carrying me was very tall, nearly as tall as a Brotherhood soldier in power armor. He was dark-skinned, wearing the intimidating black leather Courser uniform, mirrored shades over his eyes. His tightly curled black hair was extremely close cut, presenting a very intimidating appearance.

I tried not to be impressed, but the creeping cowardice in my nature kept me frozen in fear. _I'm alone, kidnapped again, held by someone so much stronger than I am that's it's practically laughable for me to even, ow!, think of escape. I wish MacCready were here._ At the thought of my absent companion, a swell of misery crested in my belly, crashing over me. _He would have already twisted free somehow and made a break for it. I'm not anywhere near as strong or courageous as he is. What can I do?_

 _Turn your fear into anger._ I focused on my partner's confident, brash attitude, the deadly intense expression in his eyes when he fought. _He's so emotional, so passionate, yet he directs that emotion into anger to fight. I need to learn from him._ Closing my eyes, I turned inward for a moment, dredging up my shattered courage.

 _This damn Courser may have my hands and feet secured, but he can't stop me from screaming._ Suiting action to thoughts, I took as deep a breath as I could manage in my current awkward position and screeched as loud and high as I could, right in his ear. Having been many years since I sang in any formal sense, MacCready's singing lessons notwithstanding, my range was reduced, but I could still force a painfully high squealing tone. My abductor merely tightened his grip on my limbs and jumped slightly, causing me to bounce painfully across his shoulders and knocking the breath out of me. _Damn it._

He walked determinedly down the nearly sterile hallways, swiftly passing a crossroad junction lined with a colored bar. I noticed the color shift from dark gray to red at the junction, continuing on to the next branch. Other people, I couldn't tell if they were human or Synth, stopped to let my abductor pass without interfering. He crossed straight through a central cataract, a beautiful circular atrium of flowing water and lush green vegetation, into an automatic door framed in blue on the opposite side. The area beyond was sparsely populated with people- scientists, based on the blue-trimmed lab coats. Striding confidently into the very back room, he slung me off his shoulders into a firm restraining hold to present me to a slim Asian lady in a lab coat who looked very surprised.

“X6-88?” she said in an aggrieved tone. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you here? Who is this?”

“Dr. Li,” he said in a completely expressionless voice, “I have retrieved our rogue asset. Father will be most interested in her.”

“Let me go!” I yelled, having gotten my breath back. My arms were held fast in his wickedly strong grasp. I tried to kick him, but he was too quick. “You have no right to hold me like this!”

X6-88 grasped my neck in one large, strong hand, exerting just enough pressure to my carotid to cause me to gray out, barely holding on to consciousness. “I suggest you restrain her while in the examination room.”

“Fine...” she snapped, her voice tight with fury. She might have had more to say, but the grip on my neck tightened just a fraction further and the world faded to black.

-0-

The next thing I remembered was fighting back into full awareness in a cool, sterile while room. I was firmly but not painfully strapped to an examination gurney, draped in a clean white sheet. In fact, I too was clean, scrubbed to the point of exfoliation. A white hospital gown covered my modesty, and I looked around the room to get my bearings.

The room itself was bordered in ceiling-high computer equipment, additional diagnostic machines neatly lined up against one wall. A cluster of examination lights glowed overhead, currently dimmed to a gentle ambiance. A wheeled metal cart stood in the corner, loaded with my pack and neatly folded clean clothes. I almost missed the Courser standing guard in the corner next to the cart, he was so still and his black uniform blended almost perfectly with the shadows. When he noticed me looking at him, he gave me a stiffly silent nod of acknowledgment and I tensed in reaction. _Why am I here? Why is he still here? What's going on?_

The scientist, _Dr. Li_ I recalled, entered the room, gesturing sharply to my silent watcher. “I'll take it from here, X6. You are dismissed.” She stood with her arms crossed, annoyance and impatience written in every line of her form until the Courser bowed slightly to her and departed. Only then did she turn and approach the gurney, extending a small hand scanner. “As if I didn't have enough to do,” she grumbled.

 _Well_ excuse _me for being kidnapped and brought here against my will_ , I thought sarcastically. “You could always let me go, you know.” I said hopefully.

Dr. Li snorted, not deigning to respond at first. She very thoroughly scanned my entire body, the tool in her hands whirring and beeping in turns as she fiddled with the controls. “I am sorry, but no,” she finally replied, a little reluctantly. “You and that rather special device on your arm were supposed to have arrived here several months ago, but something went wrong and you were assumed lost to us, a very essential rogue asset. Now that you're finally here, we can move forward with our program. Father will be very pleased to meet you at last.”

I flexed my arms and legs, testing the restraints. “Um, aren't you forgetting something?” _Damn, these are secure. I can barely move my hands._

“No, I don't think so.” She extended the interface cable on my Pip-Boy, attaching it to one of the computer banks. A light electrical buzz whispered along my body, an almost invigorating feeling compared to the Brotherhood's examination techniques. “Ah, there we go. You need to be awake for this. Just lie still.” Her manner was one of assumption that I belonged to these people, and it made me angry. _No fear, just anger._

“I don't _want_ to be here! Your Courser abducted me!” _I wish RJ was here._ _He'd_ _get me out of these restraints in no time._ My chest contracted at the thought of my partner, and I had to fight to keep from breaking down. “Why won't you let me go?”

Li pointed to the Pip-Boy on my arm. “You put that on, didn't you?” She didn't bother to wait for my answer. “Wearing the Pip-Boy indicates consent to the terms of the contract.” Ignoring my confused spluttering, she confirmed my bindings were still secure and left the room, taking the handheld scanner with her.

“Wait, what?” I struggled in vain to free myself, craning my neck to try and catch a glimpse of her. Only the slight whir of machinery answered me. “Hey, come back! What contract?!”

I wracked my brain, trying to remember. _There was the chest, yes. Inside was the letter, nothing about a contract there. What else? It's been so long since that night._ Closing my eyes to try and remember, all I could call up was the vision of a warm, lean form, a pair of crystal blue eyes, thick brown hair, and a sly smile framed by a sparse goatee. _That's not helping_ , I sighed sadly. “Oh, RJ...”

 _No. I need to concentrate. The cathodes, yes. Pip-Boy in a box. Instruction manual... and a bunch of other papers. Oh no!_ I remembered setting aside a small packet of papers in my eagerness to open the box. _Was it in there?_

 _What does it matter?_ I thought angrily. _I was transported without my knowledge or consent. My very body invaded by foreign technology. I'm currently being held against my will! This 'contract' excuse is pure bullshit._

Raising my voice, I yelled out, “You have _no right_ to keep me here! No contract on Earth allows you to do _any_ of what's been happening to me!” When that was met with silence, I continued in a futile effort. “What about breaking _your_ contract? I paid for a goddamn _virtual_ game, not this reality of pain and blood!” Taking a final deep breath, I shrieked, angry tears washing out my vision, “You owe me answers, dammit!”

When I blinked the moisture from my eyes, a tall, dignified-looking older man stood before me. His hair and neat beard were steel gray, face only lightly lined with age at odds with his demeanor. He was wearing a pristine lab coat, opened to reveal a green knitted sweater underneath. Smiling gently, he nevertheless gazed intently at me with a covetous expression I didn't quite trust. His voice when he spoke was kind, but I was in no mood to be soothed.

“If you're looking for answers. I think I can help.” He patted my hand, an action that should have been comforting. “I am the Director of the Institute. Call me 'Father'; it's kind of an ...honorary title.”


	51. The Institute

“It's nice to make your acquaintance at last, Anne,” Father said as he brought a chair over to sit by the side of the gurney, “though I could have wished it was in better circumstances.”

“How... how did you know my name?” I wasn't going to call this man “Father,” title or not. I had a father, and he was back home with the rest of my family.

A slight smile creased the corners of his mouth. “Ah, my associates from your world provided me with your information when they sent that little gadget to you. After all, you were supposed to have been transported directly here to our secure underground facilities as a welcome guest of the Institute, not stranded on the surface to fend for yourself. No matter, the miscalculation on such a small scale will be easy to correct once we finish our download.”

 _Underground? No wonder no one's been able to find the entrance; there isn't one._ At this point, though, I only had one question on my mind. “Why?” My voice cracked with emotion, and I fought to hold back tears of frustration. “What's going on? _Why_ did you do this to me?”

For a long, quiet moment, broken only by the whirring of the computer banks in the wall, I thought this “Father” person was going to ignore my question. Just as I was about to give up all hope of an answer, he replied in a quiet, even voice. “Do you know the history of this place? Had you read the instruction manual, it would have given you a basic overview of our world.”

 _If I want information from him, I better contribute to the conversation and at least pretend to go along._ “I skimmed it. This was supposed to be a _game_ , after all. I wanted to experience the _Virtual_ reality storyline without spoilers. I remember it saying something about post nuclear-war Boston. How is it you match the game world's elements so perfectly?” As much as I tried to stay neutral, some of my feelings leaked through my voice.

“Where do you think Bethesda got the idea?” He chuckled slightly at my jaw drop of reaction. “We've been working with them for years, presenting the premise of the Wasteland to their programmers to help us research some of our own technological developments. That they took our information and turned it into a series of successful computer games is quite ingenious.” The man seemed quite happy to have a new audience for his narrative, and I wasn't about to stop him from talking, though this last revelation struck me to the core.

“Bethesda?” _Could that be the first word of the acronym?_ “I got a letter from B.I.R.D....” I mused aloud.

“Bethesda/Institute Research and Development,” Father explained. “The culmination of our years of exchanging information. I admit, when we first developed molecular relay technology, we hadn't known about other realities. Once we discovered the existence of the multiverse, completely by accident of course, it was only a matter of time before we tried to communicate and, eventually, transport physically.” His dark eyes sparkled with fervent emotion. “It is a truly remarkable scientific breakthrough! You're the recipient of the most amazing piece of technology created by our two organizations working together.” He reached out to pat the back of my hand, stroking across the buried cathodes in a proprietary manner. “You are now a truly... fascinating specimen; the melding of our advanced technology with your own body in such a thorough, yet compatible way. That it was successfully able to bring you to our world is nothing short of phenomenal, and allows us to move ahead in our project.”

Inwardly I squirmed, unnerved by his not-quite-personable fascination _._ He looked at me like I was some kind of precious possession, despite his earlier assurances that I would have been treated like a guest. _Yeah, right. “Welcome guests” aren't usually strapped to an examination table. Well, at least he's more willing to cha_ _t than tha_ _t woman doctor was._ I went to hold up my arm, but the restraints prevented any movement. “But... _why?_ ” I asked again, “I'm nobody. Why did you choose me?”

Father shook his head in resignation. “Because... we need help.” He stood up to pace across the room a few times before approaching the gurney. “You appeared to potentially be the best prospect in an extremely short list of, ah, applicants.”

“You mean unwitting guinea pigs?” My comment was ignored.

“Mankind has fallen so far since the bombs dropped over 200 years ago. Radiation and the destruction of the world above caused humanity to devolve into little more than animals, fighting among themselves to survive. You've spent time up there, you've seen the mutations of every living organism. Surface dwellers can hardly even be called the same species anymore. The Institute has stayed deep underground, peacefully improving our technology, experimenting, protecting ourselves and our limited resources from being tainted by the pervasive radiation up there. But we can't maintain this way of life forever.”

I nodded slowly, inwardly seething at his arrogance. _How dare he judge the people just trying to stay alive up there? How dare he call Garvey or Deacon or MacCready less than human? He is blinded by his safe little bubble, performing who-knows-what kinds of experiments with no thought to the world outside._ “Compared to my world, life here is... different” I said carefully, wanting to hear more. _Maybe there's something I've overlooked. I wish MacCready was here. He's sharp. He'd catch anything I missed._

“I know. That is why we are so committed to creating a better world for ourselves here. You're used to a much more civilized way of life, compatible with how we conduct ourselves in the Institute. We would have treated you much better than anyone up there can. You've seen the fighting, the mistrust, the terrible violence of even the most benevolent organizations and people on the surface. I hope you can see that, rationally, the Institute is the only thing left in the world that's worth being part of, untainted by the chaos above.”

“Last time I checked, I'm being restrained against my will. Why should I cooperate?” I hedged, “and you're the ones sending Synths up to the surface to kidnap and kill people. If you're so peaceful,” I asked him, digging deep for the courage to be so blunt, “why is it your Synths have laser rifles? They attacked me and my companions on more than one occasion.” _Well, until they noticed my Pip-Boy, anyway, but I won't mention that part._

“An unfortunate occurrence. Those Synths were acting on our orders, trying to secure the same scarce resources you were. Fighting was the inevitable result. In truth, none of us have any real claim to nobility in this world. Those days are gone. But we are not the monsters in the darkness those up on the surface think we are. We really do have humanity's best interest at heart. The Institute has a plan to bring back civilization, and prevent the further decline of humanity as a whole. But we can't do it alone.” He looked me in the eyes. “That's where you come in.”

 _Almost humble words_ , I thought bitterly, keeping my expression passive, _but at the same time he dodged the issue of violence. And the Institute doesn't really consider anyone on the surface fully human anymore. I wonder if he realizes I caught on to that distinction. Do I also fall under that definition of “not-quite-human” since I'm from another reality?_ “What do you need from me? Like I said, I'm no one.” _I just don't trust him, or an organization willing to dismiss so many people as inferior. It positively reeks of eugenics. He's also ignoring my not-so-subtle request to be released. I really wish MacCready was here. I miss him._

“You were in the military. Those experiences are valuable to us, memories from a combat-trained veteran, with access to the higher echelons of command. Information like that is priceless.” He clasped his hands on the rail of the gurney, pointing to my Pip-Boy and indicating the cable attached to the computers.

I laughed, slightly hysterically. “I was a musician! I never saw real combat. If you want memories of being bored to death by endless speeches in brutally hot, sweaty conditions when you're not allowed to move to even scratch your nose, you're welcome to them!” _I hope Tom's blocking program is as good as he says. Enough of my memories have been exposed as it is._ “Technically, I was close to the higher ranking officers, but only in a ceremonial role.”

The hopeful expression on his face disappeared, and he took in a deep breath, glancing at the bank of computers. “Even if your memories are useless, _you_ are not. You are the key, the focus, the link to your own world, and we're extremely fortunate we found you when we did. Every day spent out in the Wasteland makes it harder for us to recalibrate.” He stepped away from me suddenly, but I could just barely hear him muttering under his breath about string theory.

“What do you mean?” _I need to find out as much as I can while he's willing to talk. And... focus? Mama Murphy said something about a focus._

“Whenever your cells divide and replenish, they use the elements at hand to do so. Every bite of food, drink of water, even those miraculous stimpaks... anything not of your own reality that has been introduced into your body is changing who you are. And with the amount of radiation prevalent on the surface, decimating your cells, your body is working overtime just to keep you alive. Ever so slowly, you're becoming more and more a part of this world, weakening the connection to your own.”

I gasped in realization, “You mean, if I stay long enough, I may not be able to return?”

“Essentially, yes. It takes about seven years for all the cells in your body to completely change over, so it's not an immediate danger. But our dual programming with Bethesda needs to use you and the connection to your world to guide our relay, and it needs to be properly powered and calibrated.” He reached over to tilt my Pip-Boy's screen into view, flicking the selector to the MAP screen. “You were supposed to come here directly, but got stranded randomly on the surface instead. It could have so easily been much, much worse. We now realize the dire importance of proper and minutely precise calibration.” He paused, staring at the filled screen almost admiringly. “You really have been all over the Commonwealth, haven't you?”

“Trying to get home,” I said sulkily. “The Wastelanders might be violent, but they've at least tried to help.” _Well, some of them, anyway._

“You want to go home? We can send you home.” His breezy assurance made me instantly suspicious. “But we need something from you first.” _Of course._ The man started pacing again, five steps back and forth, almost a nervous gesture. He glanced at the bank of computers built into the wall on every pass. His actions were anything but comforting, and my insides twisted up in warning. _I want to go home, but I just don't trust these people or their intentions._

“I'm assuming you're going to let me know what that is?” _Now I'm getting the distinct feeling he's not telling me everything. He's just being nice because he has to be, I've seen it too many times before. He doesn't really care about me as a person, just the living link to my world attached to their special Pip-Boy. At least the other factions were grateful for my help, not just expecting it as a matter of course. At least MacCready treats me like a person, a valued partner._

“It should already be in our systems.” He turned to make another pass in front of the gurney. “What's taking so long?” Stepping out of the room, he left me alone with my own misgivings before returning with a very unhappy look on his face. “It appears we have a bit of an issue with our equipment. While I would like nothing more than to stay and convince you to willingly help our cause, I am needed elsewhere. Someone will be in shortly to tend to your physical needs. I do hope a night of quiet reflection and peaceful sleep will bring you around. You could be the key to helping our whole world.” With a final pat to my restrained hand, he strode out of the room, the door whooshing shut behind him.

 _I highly doubt that._ Once he was out of earshot, I snickered quietly to myself. _Seems like Tom's programs are playing merry havoc with the Institute's computer systems. Good. Now, how the hell am I going to get out of here and back to MacCready? We need to get that Courser chip to the Railroad._ At the thought of my partner, I felt a renewed rush of longing to be back with him. _I've never felt this way before. It's been less than a day and I'm completely miserable without him by my side._

The Institute scientists must have been extremely confident in the security of their examination room as I was left alone for quite some time. Pulling against the restraints only cramped my muscles after a while, they were too tight and secure for me to budge. The bank of computers next to me still whirred quietly, emitting an occasional blip. I tried to invoke V.A.T.S. and even the computer hacking assistance, but only wound up with a headache and the lingering buzz of overstimulated nerves.

Sighing, I reviewed my conversation with Father, and tried to square the image he presented of a peaceful organization dedicated to helping save humanity with the stories from the surface. MacCready and I had visited dozens of communities and settlements, each with their own tales of horror caused by the Institute. _“Synths razed the whole block and took anything even remotely useful” “The Institute kidnapped my son and when he finally returned, he was a completely different person. I think he might be a Synth!” “Super Mutants are just another failed Institute experiment.” “Some weird diseases going around, I'm sure the Institute is behind them.” “A guy just walked in the place and shot everyone. Turns out he was a Synth.”_

Even if some of the stories were mere speculation, maybe Elder Maxson was on to something after all. Synths directed by the Institute were dangerous, as was the organization itself. My gut feeling was screaming at me not to trust Father, or the grand design he had in mind. _I need to stop them from getting further access to my world. I don't know what they're planning, but it can't be good for either of our realities._

 _Fine and dandy, let me just stop a technologically superior organization from executing an unspecified plan from the restrained comfort of a gurney inside said organization's hidden stronghold. As MacCready would say, “Sure, no sweat!”_ This time my laugh was more than a little hysterical.

An unspecified amount of time later, when my “physical needs” were becoming quite uncomfortable, a young man walked into the room bearing a covered tray. He was wearing the standard Institute white and gray jumpsuit without any color on his sleeves. Setting the tray on the table near my pack, he approached the gurney. “Hello. I am Z1-87.” After a significant pause, he continued, meeting my gaze with an intense look of his own. “I am here to help you.”


	52. Escape

To my hopeful surprise, he unlatched the restraints keeping me from moving. “First things first,” he said in a soothingly neutral tone, “I've been directed to escort you to the facilities.” He pressed a series of buttons on the computer wall in rapid succession, detaching my Pip-Boy's connection and retracting the cable. Helping me sit up, he led me over to the pile of clean clothes. “Since you are going to be walking around, I suggest you get dressed.”

The outfit was a brand new Institute uniform tunic and trousers, gray and white trimmed with blue sleeves. Inside the folded pile, I found a concealed folding knife just small enough to fit in a pocket. My freshly cleaned leather combat boots completed the outfit, and I felt much more secure once fully clothed. Z1-87 had given me what privacy he could during the process, but turned around as soon as the sound of rustling cloth had stilled.

“Much better,” he approved. “Follow me.”

The facilities briefly caused a moment of homesickness, they were so clean and normal looking. I sheepishly reveled in the feel of the fluffy white towels after washing my hands with warm soapy water. _Yes, this is pretty amazing, but at what cost? Hoarding technology and resources? Why haven't they tried to help the people on the surface?_

Returning to the examination room, Z1 assisted me back on the gurney, but ostensibly “forgot” to reattach the restraints when he covered me back up with the sheet. “I am supposed to feed you myself,” he explained, “but as you are perfectly capable of independent movement, I do not see the necessity of doing so. I will remain here until you have completed your meal.”

Bringing the tray over, he set it up across my lap. With a flourish that brought a fleeting smile to my face, he lifted the cover to display a perfectly cooked meal. _Oh my, MacCready would love this._ Clean water to drink, crisp vegetables, noodles in a tangy sauce, and even a formed protein patty of some kind. _Legume based, unless I miss my guess. Guess there aren't too many places to graze herds around here, so a vegan diet makes sense._ My body cried out for the good, filling nourishment provided by the Institute food, even as I felt amazingly guilty for the craving.

Z1-87 had his own commentary. “It looks like they want to win you over,” he appraised. “Most meals here are not quite as... distinct in appearance.”

“Hmmm.” _Figures. Why is it every high-tech organization has a penchant for food in goop form?_

When I finished every scrap of the delicious food, Z1 came back over to take the tray. As he reached for the side handles, a small plastic oblong landed in my lap. “I bring aid,” he said quietly, almost too quietly for me to hear despite our proximity. “We have a few mutual friends on both sides of the surface. While the computer systems struggle to deal with the burrowing programs your friend sent us via your device, my allies here will facilitate your escape as best we can without breaking our cover.” He straightened up with the tray. “I have not officially been ordered to reattach your Pip-Boy, so I will not. Keep an eye on your, ah, newest accessory. When it is time, use it in the transmission room to return and erase your path. Good luck.”

Still moving smoothly, he left the room with the tray, suggesting lightly as he turned down the lights, “You might want to take a nap after such a good meal. You will not be disturbed.”

 _Oh-ho_ , I thought, palming the device. _Tom thought ahead. I wonde_ _r how he managed to let the fugitive Synths here know I needed help?_ _No matter,_ as I lay back into the crisp clean bedding, _I'll be back with MacCready soon, but not soon enough._

Sleep was long in coming, fitful and filled with nightmares. After killing the deathclaw, and the resulting panic-dream reaction, MacCready's presence had kept the frightful nocturnal visions away. This was the first night I had spent without him since he signed on as my bodyguard, and his absence emboldened my subconscious fears, causing me to bolt awake in fright more than once, reaching for the warm companion who wasn't there. I finally managed a light doze, barely more than a trance-like rest.

-0-

The lights were still low when the alert came. The room was silent save for the quiet, insistent buzzing of the device I held in my palm. Grateful for the distraction, I gave up any pretense of sleep. _I wonder what time it is?_ So far underground, it was easy to lose track of the hours unless there was some kind of physical reminder. _Time to go._

Stepping quietly into the entryway, a short hallway led towards a larger passage curving around in both directions. The way was clear of anyone, human or Synth, and I debated on whether or not I should try and sneak, or bluff my way with my pack and coat wrapped in the bed sheet like a load of laundry. _Does the Institute even have individual laundry facilities, or do they have menial Synths gather it all up for mass cleaning? How conspicuous am I going to be?_

After a few moments of deliberation, I decided to use both approaches; sneaking when I could, and bluffing if I detected anyone. The tiny knife came in handy to cut strips from the sheet to make a tie and handles for my burden. Feeling a little ridiculous, I slung the bundle over my shoulder, keeping the small plastic oblong in my hand. It was still vibrating, growing in intensity as I slunk quietly down the empty passage. The Institute continued to inadvertently impress me with how clean and intact the facilities were. It was a stark contrast to the dust- and debris-ridden surface world. _Of course people topside are more primal_ , I thought sardonically, _they're trying to scrape by in a ruined world. The people down here have no idea, no direct experience of scrounging for food or choking down irradiated water. They've been privileged and coddled. Maybe once I would have preferred the conditions down here, but now I can see how artificial it is. Give me Daisy's kindness, Garvey's compassion or MacCready's... well, everything, any day._

Just before I entered the main atrium crossroads, the device suddenly shifted in my palm. I had the distinct impression of the vibrations guiding me to the side of the hall, towards a plain doorway. As soon as I neared the door, it slid quietly aside to reveal a dimly lit maintenance hallway paralleling the circular main walkway. I stepped through and nearly bumped into a Gen 3 Synth standing with his back against the inside wall, holding the panel open.

I stifled my alarmed squeak when he put a finger to his lips, gesturing for me to continue my journey. He stepped out into the hallway I had just left, leaving me in the dim, empty passage. Moving slowly and quietly, I followed the passage and the gentle buzz of my handheld guide. I passed several branching doorways, glancing quickly to make sure I was still alone before darting across the openings. Finally, the tug of the device led me to a final door, identical to the one I had entered through.

The smooth door panel had no obvious handle or keyhole for me to utilize and I suffered a few moments of panic thinking I was trapped inside the Synth maintenance passages. I took a few deep breaths, calming myself before flicking on the Pip-Boy's light. The doorway was also initially featureless, but a small square outline about waist-high to one side reminded me a bit of a remote payment station. _Why not?_ Waving the plastic oblong across the surface rewarded my intuition with a quiet hiss and the dim light of a larger passageway.

Peering out, my luck appeared to be holding. _Or my unknown assistance is keeping the route clear. Either way, I'm not going to complain._ The hallway looked familiar, dark gray guide stripe on the wall stretching along its length. A quick glance at the zoomed-in MAP screen on my Pip-Boy confirmed I was headed directly towards my initial teleportation entry point. Listening intently, all I could hear was the quiet hum of electricity. _Better and better._ Hoisting my awkward bundle more comfortably on my shoulder, I tiptoed towards the alcove at the end of the passageway.

The frantic buzzing of the device in my hand confirmed that this alcove filled with wires and strange metal arcs was where I wanted to be. I breathed a silent sigh of relief and placed my sheet-wrapped pack into the center of the dimly illuminated round platform. _Here, but not gone yet. How do I work this thing?_ A quick search showed me a terminal and keyboard set off to one side. I was just about to attach my Pip-Boy interface and hack the system when I paused, hesitating.

 _Hold up. If I link to this thing, they're going to know. Z1-87 said I needed to use the oblong in here. I should probably follow his instructions._ Examining the small plastic oblong, I found a hidden seam on the end of the device, prying it open with my knife to reveal an interface dongle. _There we go._ The screen blossomed with text, flickering too fast for me to read, until it cleared and settled onto a single line of code:

Single relay return to previous location : Systemic purge of all coordinate records : Reset global parameters to 0.0.0 : Countdown initiates upon external drive removal

 _Holy shit,_ I thought. _If this does what I think it's going to do, the Institute is going to lose every last bit of their matter transmission location data. This will set them back for a good long while!_ With a sinister smile, I firmly detached and pocketed the small plastic device, stepping into the center of the platform which was beginning to glow brightly. The humming in the room grew louder and louder as the system warmed up, which finally resulted in attracting unwanted attention.

I heard yells and pounding steps charging down the hallway towards me just as the flash of blue-white teleportation energy whisked me away.

The crackle of instantaneous travel faded around me a moment later with a lingering flicker of pulsing electricity along the buried cathodes in my body. I was standing in exactly the same spot at Bunker Hill, but the concrete floor beneath my feet was cracked and scarred, chunks scattered across the walkway. Early morning light streamed in from the side, bathing the cold white empty area with a warm pinkish-yellow glow. The body of the dead Courser was gone, a large dark stain remaining to show where he had been. Leaning against the first trading counter father back, Deacon watched me, arms crossed.

“Deacon!” I cried, overwhelmingly happy to see the familiar Railroad spy. He shifted a little, but didn't answer, or even uncross his arms. “Deacon?” I repeated, confused. “What happened? Where is everyone?” My voice rose in panic. “Where's MacCready?”

Finally he moved, dropping his arms to prop against the counter. “What happened? Good question.” His lilting voice was cool. “Could ask you the same thing. Where is everyone?” He shrugged. “Not back yet. It's only been a day, after all.” He paused to readjust his sunglasses with deliberate movements. “Where's MacCready...?”

Strong arms grabbed me from behind, but not in welcome. My own limbs were pinned, causing me to drop my pack as I was pulled off balance into a lean form. A cold, sharp line pressed suddenly against my neck, the feel of a combat knife moments away from slitting my throat. I froze in sudden terror as I caught MacCready's frowning, uncompromising profile shadow the edge of my peripheral vision.

Deacon continued nonchalantly, shrugging. “He's right here, making sure the Institute isn't going to try something foolish... like replace you.”


	53. Lessons in Trust

“You have ten seconds to convince me you're not a Synth.” The beloved voice in my ear was rough, low and threatening. I had never been on the receiving end of MacCready's hostility before, and his intense anger was overwhelming. He was a trained killer, a dangerous adversary.

I lifted my chin, trying to ease the pressure of the blade to no avail. “R--” I wheezed, cut off as the razor-sharp knife pressed in to stop me, not quite breaking the skin.

“No!” he snarled, tightening his grip painfully, adding, “ _don't_ call me that,” in an anguished tone. I could feel the shaking of his body through his hold on me, but in fury or inner conflict I didn't know. “Eight seconds.” A broken sob escaped my lips, the motion jiggling the blade uncomfortably against my windpipe.

“You want proof?” Slowly, fearfully, I raised my arm into view, splaying my fingers to catch the morning light. “No Synth has cathodes invading their body. Those came from my world.” Reaching for the latches on my Pip-Boy, the device came off to clatter noisily on the broken stone floor of the entryway. Across the room, Deacon exclaimed in surprise.

“Look!” I gasped around the terrified sobs trying to break free around the unwavering knife pressed to my throat. “I'm not a Synth!” Shoving my ruined forearm up into MacCready's field of view, I twisted my wrist to show the line of pin receivers glinting amid the scar tissue. I closed my eyes against the rush of heartbroken tears and continued, “You know that thing won't come off unless I allow it, so there's no way the Institute would know about my arm.” My voice broke as I begged for my partner, my lover, to spare my life. “Look at it! You know my scars better than I do. There's your fucking proof.”

A long moment passed, the only sound our ragged breathing echoing from the stone walls of the empty building. I couldn't see his expression, couldn't see if he was even looking at my arm. Without releasing pressure on the blade, I felt his free hand tentatively reach under the Institute tunic to trace along my ribs, locating the scarred gouge on my side from when he dug out the bullet after our fight with the Gunners. The calloused pads of his fingers brushed across the uneven ridge of flesh left behind as an unlovely souvenir. Suddenly the knife against my throat disappeared, and I heard a low tortured groan in my ear as he softened his grasp.

In an instinctive reaction, I clumsily scrambled away towards Deacon, away from the man I loved who had just threatened my life. In the dispassionately intellectual corner of my mind, I could understand his caution, even his anger. But emotionally I felt betrayed and terrified. The Railroad spy held out his hand to assist me to my feet, expression masked by the mirrored shades on his face. When I turned around to face MacCready, the haunted, self-loathing look in his deep blue eyes spoke more loudly than any words how he felt when he had accosted me, forcing himself to put a blade to the throat of his partner, the woman he loved. I stared back at him, unable to speak, hands shaking in reaction to the extent that it took three tries to reattach my Pip-Boy once Deacon had retrieved it for me.

“So,” Deacon said lightly, breaking the silence at last. “Now that we've reestablished our bonafides, let's get back to HQ.” He looked me up and down, taking in the stark clean tunic. “Uhh, as much as I admire the fashion-forward look amiga, it might be best if we got you a different outfit.” He handed me my coat, but kept hold of my pack.

Digging through the discarded inventory of the abandoned stalls, I was soon sporting a much more surface appropriate tattered undershirt, checkered blouse, and scuffed jeans. Shrugging back into my now-familiar leather jacket completed the transformation, and I felt much less conspicuous and ready to go, heading out through the front entranceway.

MacCready stood motionless until we reached him. I flinched involuntarily when he held out his arm. A flash of pain tightened the skin around his eyes, quickly covered by his anger-laced emotional shield. In his hand was my combat shotgun. “Here,” he said in a quiet, cool tone. “You're going to want this back.”

I gingerly reached for the weapon. He nodded crisply when I instinctively checked it, noticing it was in better condition than I usually was able to maintain. “Thanks, MacCready,” I murmured in a low voice, still keeping my distance. “Um, would you mind taking point on the way back? I... just need some time to recover... please?”

He blinked once or twice, frowning, considering my request. Finally he shrugged, resuming his professional mercenary bearing which created an instant barrier between us. “You're the boss.” Without waiting to see if we were ready, he strode out into the late morning sunshine.

While MacCready ranged ahead, traversing our path and checking for obstacles, Deacon and I followed at a more sedate pace. “What happened?” I asked him, a world of questions in those two words. Focusing on my partner whenever he crossed our line of vision, I drank in the sight of his lithe, sure movements. _I still love him, but he frightens me._ My insides were knotted with conflicting emotions, and I desperately needed to know why my friend, my trusted partner, had held a knife to my throat less than an hour ago.

Deacon answered quite simply, “We won.” He took a couple of happy shuffling steps in celebration. “The Brotherhood of Steel wiped out the entire force of Institute Synths, and you two eliminated the Courser. Our 'special cargo' was successfully transported to safety with the help of the Minutemen.” He hummed a little triumphant tune under his breath before finally acknowledging my fixed stare. “Oh, you mean MacCready?”

“Yes, Deacon,” I grated at him, his lackadaisical attitude irritating me beyond my tolerance. “While I _am_ very glad to know the mission was a success, I would also _dearly_ like to know why my partner, the one person I trusted unconditionally, threatened to kill me. What. _Happened?_ ”

Deacon dropped his clownish facade, settling into a quiet walking pace to match mine. “When you and that Courser vanished into thin air... he went completely ballistic. Shot up the ground where you had just been standing, then rushed out on a bloodthirsty tear to find and kill every last Synth still moving.” He shook his head. “There was nothing I could do to stop him. He's a much better fighter than I am, and I don't say that lightly. Fortunately, your friend... Tango? Waltz?”

“Danse?”

“Yeah, that's him. Fortunately, he and his squad had pretty much cleaned out the bad guys by then, and he was able to calm MacCready down from his frantic rampage. They were talking quietly when I found them. Unfortunately...”

“Go on.” My stomach fluttered uncomfortably.

“Well, by the time I realized what was going on and made my way out there as a 'cowardly merchant' (since we definitely don't want them knowing they helped the Railroad), Danse had all but convinced MacCready that you were probably gone, and if 'you' did return, it meant you were a Synth replacement. He... didn't take that too well.”

“He believed Danse?” _I knew the two of them had forged an understanding of sorts that night aboard the Prydwen, but I thought MacCready wouldn't take the Brotherhood's fanatical beliefs so seriously._

“Looked like it. The Institute can and does do that, so there's truth there. The timing is unlikely, though. Not impossible, just very unlikely. MacCready was protesting that if anyone could escape, it would be you, but he got awfully quiet when Danse insisted on his version of events. And as much as I wanted to disagree on principle, your Brotherhood friend made a very good point.” Deacon clasped his hands behind his back, staring up into the sky thoughtfully. “It wasn't until I managed to shoo those clanking bastards away that I was able to tell MacCready about Tom's special little backup programs.”

“And then?”

“Then, he insisted on waiting for you. I don't know what you paid him, but he is one loyal mercenary once bought, I'll give him that.” We both fell quiet as MacCready appeared up ahead, skirting from an alleyway into a ruined pile of rubble father along. Deacon dropped his voice and continued, “Loyal or not, though, I could tell something was seriously bothering him. He finally admitted to not knowing quite what to do if 'you' returned... if you were going to be, well, 'you' or not. Since I have much more experience with Synths than he does, we sketched out a plan to let me take the lead in questioning you if and when you returned... but then you suddenly zapped back in and caught us both completely flat-footed. He...”

“He did what he had to, I guess.” _It's all he knows, after all, the flash of a knife. Violence first, ask questions later._

“He followed my lead. If anything, it's my fault.” Deacon's reluctant admission stunned me to my core. “I gave him the signal.”

“What are you talking about?” I scanned ahead for my partner, but he was out of view.

Deacon gestured defensively, “I'm talking about you! I couldn't tell just by looking at you, and the initial evidence was rather strongly against you being human- teleporting back to the exact same spot? Clean and unharmed? Wearing a godforsaken Institute tunic?” His voice lowered in frustration. “I hate to admit it, but I didn't think about looking for your Pip-Boy. It wasn't until you took it off that I even noticed it. By then...”

My answer was broken and dejected, “by then, you had ordered the Commonwealth's most loyal mercenary,” _and my love_ , “to betray his contract and his partner by putting a knife to my throat.” _Poor MacCready, he was already torn up inside, then I had to go and pull away from him. Even if it was instinctive, it had to have cut him deeply._ In that instant, the fear I felt towards him evaporated, replaced by forgiveness and a pressing need to salve our wounded relationship. _I have to get him alone so we can work this out._ “One thing he takes absolute pride in is he doesn't break his contracts.”

“When you put it that way, it makes me look like a complete jackass.” Deacon commented sourly.

“If the boot fits...” I wasn't about to let him get away with dodging responsibility. “You were supposed to be the experienced agent, able to identify Institute meddling. You took the lead by your own admission. Yes, MacCready is a much better fighter, but he and I have a long-term trusting partnership with each other and you _knew_ that. Why would you shift the burden to him?”

Deacon stopped in the middle of the street and removed his sunglasses to stare at me. “You...” he began, then threw his arms up in exasperation. “Fine! I knew the two of you were getting awfully close, especially for a mercenary and his boss.” He paused to pin me with a piercing look, and I crossed my arms, hoping my expression appeared impassive, and waited for him to continue. “He'd spent more time in your company than everyone else in the Wasteland combined. I figured if anyone could tell, quickly, if you were human or Synth, it would be him. And he did.”

“Can you even comprehend the gravity of what you asked him to do? You _used_ him, not really caring about how it would affect our partnership!” I was floored. _Mission over friendship. I don't know if I can grasp that kind of mindset, though I have seen it before._

“Yes!” Deacon practically shouted. “You're not from here. You have _no idea_ how quickly a planted Institute Synth can snap, turning on everyone around him in a ruthless killing spree! There was no time to dance around the topic, so I used the resources I had at my disposal.” He turned and started walking again, striding quickly towards the Old North Church just coming into view. “Do I regret turning two partners against each other? Yes. Would I do it again to save lives? Again, yes, in a heartbeat. The Institute is coldly expedient, and sometimes we have to be, too. You're supposed to be going home, anyway. MacCready is a mercenary, he should be used to this kind of thing.”

“Wow, Deacon, I knew you weren't too fond of my partner, but geez! He didn't deserve that. That's really cold of you, especially after all we've done for the Railroad. You owe him a very serious apology.” I stomped along angrily. “You hurt him, and that hurts me, too. I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust you again,”

He paused, stunned, then laughed sardonically, “No, you have it backwards. I'm a liar; you can't believe anything I say. However, you _can_ trust me. I'm in your corner, whether you know it or not. You wouldn't have even found the Railroad if it hadn't been for me.”

“True enough,” I grumbled reluctantly. “Though I fail to see much of a distinction between trust and belief. No matter what, I need to clear things up with my partner. Is there somewhere in HQ where we can be undisturbed... and unobserved?”

Deacon pointed up with his chin, “Try the steeple. It's a bit of a scramble to get there, but no one will follow you. Not even me.”

MacCready was standing in front of the steps to the church as we approached. The three of us paused briefly to scan the immediate area for watchers, and I took that time to comment, just loudly enough for both men to hear. “Right. Deacon explained what happened after I disappeared.” I turned to face MacCready, trying to catch his gaze. “The, ah, reaction to my return was... unfortunate, but I guess necessary in light of the circumstances.” MacCready didn't respond, his gaze sweeping the surrounding buildings, stiffened back towards the Railroad spy.

In my peripheral vision, Deacon nodded sharply. “As long as we're all on the same page, I think that's good enough for now. Let's get inside before we attract attention. Dez and Tom are going to want to talk to you.” He lightly tripped up the steps, heading for the underground headquarters. As soon as the door creaked closed behind him, I stepped in front of MacCready, my heart pounding nervously. He finally met my gaze with a cool expression, hooded eyes shaded by the brim of his green cap. _He's walled himself off. Damn Deacon._ I hated the fact that he had been used to threaten me, breaking the deep trust we had spent months building. _It's not fair, and I need to make it right if I can._

“RJ?” I asked quietly. The frown on his face deepened at the sound of the name I only ever called him in private. “As soon as possible...”

He shook his head, interrupting me. “No, you don't have to say anything. I get it.” Turning away, he looked back over his shoulder, speaking quietly in a carefully emotionless manner. “I guess I'll head back to Goodneighbor then. Thanks to you, my reputation is good enough to get work with anyone I want. Good luck.” He would have walked off, but I grabbed his elbow, halting him. I desperately searched for something to say.

The words tumbled out, unfiltered. “Are you breaking your contract with me?” I asked pointedly. “Last time I checked, I'm not back home.”

He turned back around, sniper rifle lowered in confusion. “But-” A flicker sparked in his eyes. “It's over, isn't it? I betrayed you! I was supposed to _protect_ you, and I held a fuc--errr, freaking knife to your throat!” I could hear the hopelessness in his voice, anger turned inward. “All I ever do is hurt people, the perfect mercenary sniper. You ran away from me, as well you should...” He shut his mouth with a snap, looking anywhere but at me.

“No, RJ,” I insisted. “I was just reacting in fright. For one brief second, you became the nightmare you used to banish.” He grimaced, closing his eyes, and I reached out to cover his hand with mine. “But now I understand _why_ you did it, and I still love you with all my heart.” Taking a bracing breath, I gently tugged on his arm to coax him to come with me. “It wasn't your fault, you know. We need to talk this over. Please don't leave. Not now, not like this.” When he didn't move, I closed my eyes in defeat and dropped my hand, releasing him. “You are so much more than _just_ a hired gun.” I sighed, my voice rough with emotion, “If you really want to go, I won't stop you, but I'm asking you to please stay with me. I love you. I-- I _need_ you. You're the only person I really trust, even after what happened back there.”

A moment later, I felt his fingers brush mine. My insides fluttered in reaction to his words. “I don't know why you still want someone as messed up as me around, angel,” he whispered, his voice a hoarse murmur, “but I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth if you asked me to.”


	54. Straight Talk

Desdemona called for a full emergency meeting as soon as MacCready and I walked into the catacombs. Before I even had a chance to sit down, Tinker Tom was at my elbow, practically dancing with eagerness to scan the findings from my visit to the Institute. I handed him the plastic oblong as well as my Pip-Boy, quickly pulling the sleeve down to cover my forearm as the ecstatic Railroad engineer bustled back to his workstation. Very soon, the entire complement of the Railroad's headquarters (minus Tom, who could listen in from his terminal) were seated at the main map table to hear what had happened at Bunker Hill and the Institute.

We gingerly took our seats in the circle overlooking the map. Deacon approached me with a steaming mug. “Coffee?” he inquired with a neutral expression. Recognizing the attempt at a peace offering, I took the mug with a slight nod of thanks, aware of my partner's suspicious glare. The two men traded a long challenging look, their intense stare only broken when Deacon held out his hand. “Look, I'm sorry MacCready,” he said quietly. “I could have handled things better back there.”

My partner eyed Deacon with a deep frown on his face. “Yes, you could have,” he said coolly in response, adding after a moment when he briefly shook the proffered hand, “The rest of the Railroad is okay I guess, but if I ever work with _you_ again, Deacon, it will only be because the Boss here asked me to.” He looked into my eyes, ignoring the spy's raised eyebrows. “I know she would never stab me in the back.”

_Harsh, if mostly deserved. They're never going to be friends, but at least there's no bloodshed._

Deacon dropped his hand awkwardly, attempting to salve his pride. “Right. Good talk.” Fortunately, that's when Desdemona called for our attention, gesturing for Deacon to join her in the center of the circle.

He addressed the group first, as the operation had been his idea. I felt MacCready nudge my shoulder significantly when the spy began to exaggerate, first minor details, then expanding his tale until the participants of the battle sounded like epic folk heroes, valiantly defending the half-dozen runaway Synths from an entire brigade of heavily armed Institute fighters. It wasn't until Desdemona stood up, tapping her fingers on her crossed arms meaningfully that he wrapped up his story with, “And that's when a Courser teleported in with a flash of lightning and thunder, grabbed our friend here,” gesturing to me, “and disappeared, taking her with him!” With a theatrical flourish, he sat down.

“Quite a tale, Deacon,” Desdemona commented, one eyebrow raised cynically. “It was almost believable until you added magical teleportation abilities.” She turned to sweep her gaze across the small group seated around the table. “The important thing is we successfully rescued and moved the fugitive Synths out of the Institute's grasp. Now, Anne, you actually made it inside the Institute? Tell us everything you can remember.”

Feeling the weight of attention shift to me, I nervously cleared my throat. “Um, I know it sounds unbelievable, but 'teleportation' is probably the most accurate term for what happened. Their facilities are underground, but I don't know where...” I launched into my own story, giving the best account I could. Several of the Railroad members had questions about my experiences, asking for details about the layout of the building, the people living there, even the food and water. While I couldn't always work out why the agents needed to know about the minutiae, I tried to answer as fully as possible. Desdemona was very interested in getting every last detail about Father in particular, and his plans for the future. Once I exhausted my limited store of memories, the group proceeded to dissect the information. I sat back in my chair, sipping my now cold coffee to soothe my throat. _I wonder how much longer this is going to go on. I want to talk to MacCready as soon as possible._

Not long after that, Desdemona clapped her hands to bring the discussion to a close. “We need to get on with our mission, folks. Let's table the discussion for now, and meet again tomorrow to further explore our options. I'm sure Tinker Tom will have some new insights by then as well.” She pointed over to the engineer's station, addressing me. “Go see what he's found. He had an extra day before you arrived to dissect, literally, that Courser chip. Deacon sent it along when he and your bodyguard waited for you. By getting us that chip, and whatever your Pip-Boy managed to steal from the Institute directly, you've earned the full support of the Railroad. Good luck.”

To MacCready's obvious displeasure, Deacon joined us when we met with Tom. The energetic man was happily humming to himself as we approached, tapping away on his keyboard in a frenzy. “Oh hey! Your little jaunt into the lair of the enemy has netted us enough data to keep my babies here,” and he indicated the line of computers on his desk, “busy for months!”

“That's good to hear, Tom.” I said, taking some comfort that there was a silver lining among the dark clouds of the last couple of days. “Were you able to find out anything about the, ah, teleportation programming?”

“That's the good news!” he bubbled, gesturing for us to gather around. “I managed to transfer the Courser transmission program into your Pip-Boy! It was easy-peasy once I had the actual chip to work from!”

“You mean...” my head swam at the realization, “I can go home?” The outside world faded as I focused on that single thought.

_Home._

_I can go_ **home** _._

I clutched the mug in my hands with desperate strength. _I can go back to my family, to clean air and water, to my own house. (What about RJ?) I won't have to kill any more. I can go back to repairing instruments, not shooting mutated creatures. Music. I can play music again! (You can't just leave him.) My stomach will stop hurting, and I won't ever be irradiated again. I can go home!_

Lost in the dream of returning home, it wasn't until Tom gently patted my cheek that I came back to the present, three sets of eyes focused on me. “Hey, you in there? Come on back, I'm not finished yet. There's also the bad news.”

 _Bad news?_ “What?”

Tom explained. With the full program at his disposal, he was able to calculate how the combined capabilities of the Institute and Bethesda worked together to bring me across worlds. “It's a pretty snazzy little automated program, the inter-dimensional transport sequence, but it took a _lot_ of juice,” he clarified, simply.

The QuantumEnergy vial was the original key to actual corporeal transmission. It was essentially a supercharged nuclear battery; physical materials from my world using the theoretical engineering developed by the Institute to create an immensely powerful energy source. It was used to initiate the original dematerialization cycle and establish a connection to the Institute's own transmission signal, causing it to lose about half its energy when it did so. “But don't you worry, Anne,” Tom assured me, “even at reduced charge, that Pip-Boy's got enough power to keep you going for hundreds of years of regular use, if you live that long. As far as the multi-world transportation is concerned, though? That looks like it was a one-way trip, based on the battery expenditure and the total amount of energy needed to return.”

The dregs of my coffee splattered across my boots as the mug dropped from my suddenly nerveless fingers, shattering on the stone floor like my hopes of getting home. My legs went limp, and I dropped into a stunned crouch, my ears ringing. “What did you say?” I whispered hoarsely, barely even noticing when MacCready placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. The blood drained from my face, and I felt light-headed.

 _One-way trip? What am I going to do? The battery is depleted!_ The panic threatened to break free in a scream, and I gritted my teeth to keep it down. _I don't belong here! I have to get home, where the very air isn't trying to kill me, where I can sleep safe at night in my own bed, my own house. Where my family and friends are. Where I have responsibilities and a career! The only reason I'm even alive right now is because of Hancock's sympathy and MacCready's expertise... and protection... and..._ my thoughts fragmented into a scattering of random flickers.

“Uh,” Tom stammered. “Well, ah, just because the battery is depleted _now_...” he searched for something to soothe my overwhelming distress, “it's a pretty amazing device... can hold a lot more power than it did...”

Deacon stepped over to crouch in front of me, ignoring MacCready's low grumble. “Hey, hey, Tom's a bonafide genius. Recharging a battery is hardly rocket science. It's more like... computer science, right?”

Tom danced on his toes nervously. “Uh, sure, Deacon.” His entire manner told me there was a lot more to the story than that. “Technically any battery can be recharged. You just gotta build the right charger.” His grin was weakly confident, and I tried to believe him.

Deacon pressed ahead, “Just because the Institute _intended_ for you to make a one-way trip doesn't mean we can't send you back home anyway.” He didn't see Tinker Tom's skeptical expression behind him. “Like Tom said, batteries can be recharged, all right? If not, I guess we can see about powering your Pip-Boy from an outside source.”

I grasped at the tiny spark of hope. “Does the Railroad have access to that kind of power?” _How much does it need?_

“No.” Tom's answer was uncharacteristically monosyllabic. “We're too small, working in too depleted an environment. I barely got enough power here to run my own programs. Maybe your Brotherhood of Steel friends have something, but we're talking about a magnitude of energy unseen since the big boom 200 years ago.” He pointed to my Pip-Boy propped up on his desk and a new line on the DATA screen, a set of numbers detailing the amount of energy needed to bridge across our worlds; numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me, but looked to have an awful lot of zeroes at the ends of them.

“We're brilliant, not powerful.” Deacon added, musing, “I wish I knew what the Institute was up to with that 'saving humanity' bullshit. Their experiments tend to have unfortunate side effects for everyone else.”

Tinker Tom returned to his terminal. “Well, since our number one friend here was able to get my little programs inside the dreaded organization itself, we may be able to tease that info out for you, Deacon. In the meantime, I'm in the midst of transferring everything your Pip-Boy was able to steal from them into my own database. Whatever the Institute is up to, I'll find it!” He sheepishly added, “it'll just take time.”

I sighed, standing up shakily. “Looks like time isn't much of a problem right now.” Another rush of despair hit me and I leaned heavily against Tom's workstation. “Speaking of time, I'm going to need some to process...” I broke off with a choked gasp. _Process the concept that I'm apparently no closer to getting home than I was a month ago, even if I now have the data necessary to do so. Knowledge without power-- it's nearly useless. There may not even_ be _enough power left in the Commonwealth to send me back home, but I have to go ask around, anyway, just to make sure. Even if there is, somehow, a source of that kind of power, what makes me so special to commandeer it ahead of anyone else? It's just...too much to take in right now._

“MacCready, would you please accompany me to the steeple? I need to get air, lots and lots of air.”

“You got it, Boss.”


	55. Diversion

“Care to tell me your side of the story?” We were sitting propped against the waist-high cupola wall, basking in the afternoon sunbeams, our feet dangling off the narrow observation platform. We had made our way to the top of the steeple in silence, gathering our packs and enough supplies for an overnight stay. Setting up a hasty camp at the enclosed and protected base of the stairs helped restore a sense of companionable normalcy to our strained relationship. The steeple was a perfect spot to have a private talk with my partner, but I had been in no hurry to rush things. It was enough to just be near him, enjoying the sense of partnership, the balance of shared tasks to secure our privacy and comfort. I focused on memorizing every detail of my companion, shoving my own conflicted despair to the back of my mind. _Time enough to worry about my situation later. I really don't want to think about it right now._

Once freed from the presence of the Railroad's members, MacCready was more willing to open up to me. “When you disappeared, I- I lost it, I guess. All that was going through my mind was how I let you down, again. I wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough to stop that Courser from grabbing you. My ears started ringing and the world went fuzzy.” We leaned against each other, drawing comfort from physical contact, something we both craved. “I... don't remember much after that.”

“Deacon said you went on a shooting spree.”

“I may have,” he mumbled. “By the time I came to my senses, my magazine was empty and Danse had me cornered against the wall.” He shook his head, brushing at his cheek with one hand. “Muttering the same kind of nonsense we all do when trying to calm someone down.”

“And then?”

“And then he made things worse by telling me that was basically the last I'd ever see of you. That the Institute would have you replaced with a Synth and I couldn't trust anyone who looked like you.” He broke off the last word and took a shuddering breath. “It felt like he punched me in the gut, but he was only telling me what I already knew. When Deacon finally showed up and didn't contradict the story...? Everyone knows the Institute kidnaps and replaces people.” He reached out and absently traced the lines of scarring across my forearm, a habit he had picked up in the last month. “I held on to the hope that you could escape. Hope that was strengthened when Deacon told me about the extra programming Tinker Tom put in your Pip-Boy to help you if you ever got into the Institute. I knew then that I had to wait for you, that when you did get free you'd come straight back, and I just _had_ to be there when you did.”

“Oh, RJ...” I pressed against his warm side, his arm coming up to pull me in closer.

“Without you there to keep me thinking rationally, I was completely lost. Lost enough to have listened to that two-faced bastard of a Railroad agent when he gave me the signal that you were a Synth.” His arm tightened around me and I snaked my own hand around to give him an answering hug. “I wasn't completely sure, which is why I said something first. I almost _killed_ you, angel!” His voice was a mix of anger and terror, the twisted knot of emotions bursting out in a healing rush, like lancing a boil. “I never would've forgiven myself if I had pressed that blade home.”

“But you didn't.” I pointed out, resting my head against his shoulder. “It was a tense situation. Deacon made a mistake, RJ. He even apologized for it.” Inwardly, my stomach flip-flopped. _I didn't realize it was that close, though. Thank the powers that be for his hesitation._

“And I didn't murder him for it. But I won't ever trust him again.” MacCready sighed heavily, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make me civilized?” He shifted a bit on the narrow planks to rearrange our embrace into a slightly more comfortable position. “Or at least more tempered. I wouldn't have hesitated to shoot Deacon before.”

“ _That's_ your definition of 'civilized'?” I looked up into his crystal blue eyes, darkening as clouds moved in to block the sun. “Please tell me you're kidding right now. Besides, you're the one who said you wanted to be a better person. Not killing Deacon for making a mistake is a good step along that path.”

“Well,” he squirmed, “mostly kidding.” A slight shrug accompanied the somewhat apologetic quirk of his mouth. “Anyway, that's what happened. You disappeared, and I went crazy.”

“I was miserable without you.” I admitted. “Scared, and wanting more than anything for you to be there. Your fighting tenacity was the incentive I needed to push back against them. If I supposedly keep you tempered and rational, you buoy my spirit and courage.” I moved to rest my head on his chest, listening for a moment to the steady beat of his heart and the quiet rush of his breathing.

“You may be on to something there, angel,” he murmured affectionately, stroking my hair. “I think... maybe together we make one competent, balanced Wasteland survivor.”

His words soothed my ego, but I was still a bit skeptical. “I don't know. You seemed to be doing just fine before I came along.”

“I don't think drinking myself blind in Goodneighbor, smoking endless cigarettes, dodging the Gunners, and waiting for work to find me counts as 'doing fine.'” He looked up suddenly when a fat raindrop spattered down, followed by several more. “Let's take this downstairs. I hate getting wet, and there's a storm coming.”

“Radstorm?” I asked nervously, sitting up a bit too quickly and almost falling off the edge of the narrow platform to the landing below.

“Whoop!” MacCready caught my arm, steadying me. “No, just the regular type. Though,” he leered with a cheeky grin, “we could pretend it's a radstorm if you need me to 'comfort' you.” _There it is, his incredible ability to bounce back. He truly has an unbreakable spirit, and I love him for it._

I smiled wistfully at him, dodging the increasing number of raindrops towards our protected “camp” below. “Oh, would you?” I teased, fluttering my eyelashes.

-0-

I woke up to the quiet sounds of falling rain, and the _shuff_ of turning pages beside my curled-up form. We had been comfortably lounging in the pile of our purloined blankets, listening to the soothing sound of the rain. It wasn't quite dark yet. _Hm, must've dozed off for a few minutes._ I wiggled around to face my companion, who was propped up next to me, heedless of his muddy boots on the bedding, contentedly leafing through...

“A comic book?” The colorful panels and speech bubbles were unmistakable.

MacCready started guiltily, closing the pages with a slight flush creeping across his cheeks. “Uhhh...” he temporized.

Sitting up a little to cuddle against his side, I angled the cover in order to read the title. “Grognak the Barbarian? Huh, never heard of that one. Any good?” The title character was unmistakable, a blonde muscular fighter wearing little more than a long green loincloth and boots, wielding a bloodstained axe.

MacCready's mouth worked silently for a few moments before he managed to stammer out in surprise. “You... like comics too?” He dropped his hands to his lap, nearly creasing the tattered pages.

“Sure, why not?” I was faintly amused as his astonishment. _He knows I'm into the arts. Why is liking comics a surprise?_ “Comics are a perfectly legitimate art form.”

“It's kid stuff!” he protested weakly, adding quietly, “I used to read them to Duncan as a bedtime treat, with voices and everything.”

I snorted. “Some of them, sure. You like what you like! I thought you didn't really care what other people thought.”

“Lucy never cared for them.” A light flush bloomed across his cheeks.

 _Ah, that's the explanation._ “But yeah, I read comics and graphic novels. Some of my friends back home have even published--” a wave of homesickness and despair crashed over me and I choked off my words with a broken sob, curling into MacCready's side for comfort. _Friends back home... Family... A world that's just as far away as the day I arrived..._

“It snuck up on you, didn't it?” A warm hand patted my back and I nodded my head, unable to speak. I clung tightly to him, closing my eyes and just letting the tears flow, soaking the leather of his duster. “I know what that feels like. Hold on a sec...” The comic was placed carefully on one of the storage boxes scattered about the alcove and, reaching out with one hand to root through his pack, MacCready pulled out a bottle.

“Oh, noo...” I protested weakly, but took a mouthful of the fiery liquid when he held it to my lips, following with his own generous swig. “I'm just so tired, RJ,” I hiccuped, causing him to stifle a smile. “And scared. And frustrated! Every time I think I'm getting close, they move the goalposts.”

He held up the bottle in a faux toast. “Welcome to the world, angel. Nothing is fair.” When I declined a second swig, he shrugged and took another draught. “As your bodyguard, I'm ordering you to take tonight to relax and think of something else. Tomorrow is soon enough to worry.”

“But what am I going to do--?” The bottle was pressed to my lips again in admonition, and I took the implied penalty drink. “Fine.” _But I'm going to worry anyway, drunk or not. What's the point of pestering everyone in the Commonwealth if there isn't even enough juice to power the transfer?_ _Maybe I should just stay._ I muttered rebelliously into his lapel, the alcohol starting to affect me, shutting down my natural brain-mouth filter.

The bottle fell and rolled across the floor, the remaining unnamed alcohol spilling in an splashing stream. MacCready exclaimed wordlessly, writhing free to rescue the escaped container before the blankets got soaked. He looked mournfully at the small amount remaining before tipping his head back to consume the dregs. The empty bottle sailed away to land in front of the barricaded door to the church with a distracting clatter. “Don't,” he sighed pensively, giving me a heated look from lowered eyelids, “tease me like that.”

“Huh? Did I say something?” I couldn't remember. I was just thinking, or so I thought. My inner conflict had resurfaced with a vengeance at the sight of my partner scrambling to rescue a wayward bottle, giving me a very good demonstration of his lithe, athletic movements. _It's a good thing we're already lovers, or this would have pushed me over the edge. Oh dear, I think I'm tipsy._

“Nevermind, angel. It's just the booze talking.” He kneeled at the entrance of our blanket nest, feeling around to test the limits of the alcohol christening. “Hm, guess there wasn't much left. Mostly spilled on the floor and missed the blankets. Waste of good liquor, though.” In a lightning change of mood, he sighed overly dramatically, eliciting a slightly tipsy giggle from me. “Ha, you laughed. I win.”

“Were we competing? What was the game?”

“The game of 'distract-the-boss',” he smirked triumphantly. “I just made it up.”

“And won, all in record time.” I grinned at him, the strong spirits loosening my reserve. “Kinda cheating to get me tipsy first, don't you think?”

“Welcome to the world, angel,” he repeated, snorting when I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Hmph. If you really want to distract me...” I teased, walking my fingers across the piled fabric in a random path.

“Oh? Just say the word, and I'm all over it.” Flirtatiously, he crept towards me on hands and knees, an amorous grin lighting his features.

“Read to me?” I pointed to the comic he had abandoned, and almost giggled aloud as he froze stock-still halfway up the blankets, a completely stunned expression on his face. “Please? You said you do voices and everything...” my words trailed off when he didn't move. _Uh-oh, maybe I'm asking too much if he used to read to Duncan, but I love listening to his voice. It's wonderful._

With a sudden shake of his head as if to reorient himself, MacCready sat back on his knees. “Not... _quite_ what I was thinking, angel,” he smiled winningly, reaching down to pat my leg, “but I'd be happy to read to you if you'd like.” He looked around the mostly enclosed alcove in the lowering dusk. “We'll need to get some more light, though. Lemme grab the lanterns from up top.” He stood and ascended the narrow stairs to the open belfry where the two historical lanterns were placed.

I had my own suspicious about the lanterns on the open railing, and decided to poke around the storage crates to see if there might be backups. Just as I pried open the second crate to discover a number of carefully packaged replacements, MacCready stomped back down the stairs with an annoyed frown. “Who the hell fastens lanterns to a railing? They were nailed down tight, too. I couldn't get them free without breaking them.”

“Well, it might have something to do with the history of this place, which I'm going to guess is the same as in my world.” I went on, a little hesitantly in my slightly inebriated state, to tell my partner about the importance of the lantern signals during the Revolutionary War, and how the British were thwarted in the attempt to raid colonial stockpiles, which was about the limit of my knowledge. During my recitation, I handed several of the undamaged replacement lanterns to my partner to set about our “camp”, filling them from a scavenged oil can.

MacCready commented sardonically. “Those were their only choices? Land or sea? Pretty dumb if you ask me.”

I nodded. “Yeah, well, back then there wasn't exactly a large range of options, you know?” Digging though my pack, I pulled out a flip lighter. “All right, let's light it up!”

MacCready lit the first lantern with his own lighter, intoning in a slightly fruity “announcer” voice, “One if by land...”

Following his lead, I lit the second, stating dramatically, “Two if by sea.”

“Hmm,” he mused, taking in the dim illumination. “Not enough light. Guess we'll have to keep going.” With a grin at me, he lit another lantern. “Three if by air...”

I laughed. “Air travel for troops wasn't around back then, silly!” When he mock-pouted at me, I giggled again and lit the fourth lantern, taking up the game. “Four if by, uhhh, subway tunnel!”

“Five if by brahmin caravan.”

“Six if by saddled deathclaw...” We kept up the game until we had lit every lantern in the crate, coming up with increasingly ridiculous methods of travel. It wasn't until I looked around at the now brightly lit alcove, commenting “Good thing they only had two choices. That railing upstairs couldn't possibly hold all of these lanterns!” that we laughingly started snuffing them out one by one.

“Yeah, and we don't exactly want to announce our location with too much light, either,” MacCready remarked. Once the light was just bright enough to read by without being overkill, we settled back into our blanket nest, curling up to ward off the rainy chill.

 _Duncan is the luckiest kid in the world if he got bedtime stories like this_ , I reflected contentedly, enraptured by my partner's dramatic flair and talent for voice acting as we paged through the old, battered Grognak comic together. MacCready dove into the role of storyteller with increasing enthusiasm, adding sound effects and battle cries as the action moved towards the climax of the tale. When we reached the final page, he wound down with a satisfied grin and I wanted to applaud. I decided to thank him with a passionate kiss instead, which reminded him of his previous idea to distract me. He responded to my unspoken invitation with a very gratifying eagerness.

As we reconfirmed the depth of our relationship, the thought percolated quietly in the back of my mind: _I could get used to nights like this..._


End file.
